Safe In Their Hands
by CalicotheCat
Summary: Will Heyes yield to the temptation of cracking one last safe? Is that Kid Curry manacled - nekkid - to a bed? A light-hearted romp which re-introduces us to a couple of old, old friends and, to the most unsquashable of heroines.
1. Chapter 1

**Safe in their Hands**

**By Calico**

**PROLOGUE**

**SAN FRANCISCO 1881**

Mrs. Theodore Pierce dropped a light kiss on her husband's bald patch, before picking up the long spouted silver pot and pouring out his morning coffee. Without lifting his absorbed eyes from the paper propped before him, he grunted something inarticulate, which could be interpreted as thanks.

She took her own seat, arranging her light muslin skirt prettily, allowing one shapely, silk-clad, ankle, terminating in a frivolous embroidered satin slipper, to emerge and swing provocatively.

The small swaying foot caught Pierce's attention. His - attention - travelled up his young wife's figure, until her slanting eyes captured his gaze. She gave him a dazzling smile.

"Theo," she began, in a warm, enticing voice, "- I was thinking, today, we could drive out to Pacific Heights, maybe pick the perfect spot for our new summer house."

"Well, my dear," he hesitated, "- I know we spoke about a summer residence, but - the business hasn't been going well - and -"

She pouted, her eyes opening wide in entreaty.  
"Oh, not 'but' Darling! You promised! It'll be somewhere to retreat from the hustle and dust of the city!"

"You see, Darling..."

"You can't want me to stay here, through the hottest summer months," protested Mrs. Pierce, gesturing at the room as if it were an oppressive box, rather than an extensive, elegant chamber within one of the finest houses on Nob Hill. "I would stifle - it would bring on my headaches." She smiled, appealingly, at her husband, "You don't want me to have a headache - do you darling?" Her lashes fluttered, "Not when we could be walking - hand in hand - in the balmy evening air, watching the waves." She allowed her fine bosom to heave, under its filmy drapery. Her eyes flickered up, with meaning, "I always feel so - romantic - when I hear lapping water."

The foot, clad in a gossamer silk stocking, loosed its slipper and gently rubbed his calf.

Theodore Pierce gulped. Three months of marriage in no way lessened his desire to give his young wife anything she wanted, if it might make her feel - romantic.

Suddenly the door of the breakfast parlour burst open. In bounced the furious - pretty, but furious - figure of Alice Pierce.

"Daddy!" she exploded, "...Mary says there was a letter for me this morning and you kept it! How dare you intercept my post! Give it me at once!"

Mrs. Pierce sighed, as a thunderous frown descended on her husband's brow. If she did not spend so much energy reconciling hot tempered father to mutinous daughter, the foundations of that elegant summer house would be dug by now; and her - already well stocked jewellery box - would be at least twice as heavy.

"Give me my letter!" repeated Alice, stamping her foot.

"Alice, dear," reproved her stepmother, mildly, "there's no need to shout."

"If you mean this," glowered her father, retrieving an envelope from the pile beside his plate, "I've no intention of giving it to you! I forbade you to have anything more to do with that - that nonentity!"

"He is not a nonentity! He is the cleverest, most wonderful man in the world! We're going to be married - and there's nothing you can do to stop it!"

"I certainly can do something to stop it, young lady! Do you think after the money I've spent having you brought up as fine as any lady in the land, I'm going to let you - my only child," his voice softened a little, "- my little princess - throw yourself away on Jozef Kowalski? A - a -"

"A what?" challenged Alice, eyes flashing.

"A - nobody - from the wrong side of town. One of my own employees!"

"Not any more!" shot back Alice. "You thought you could get rid of him! All you did was lose the best engineer you'd ever had to Henry Brooker."

Pierce's glower deepened at this - all too true - statement.  
"That sneaky snake in the grass! That skunk! Always copying our best ideas..." he began to growl.

"Doesn't have to now, does he?" gloated his daughter. "Give me my letter!" Her hand shot out. Just in time her father whipped it out of reach.

Silk smooth, it was plucked from his grasp, by his wife. Tearing it open, she pulled out the single sheet.

"No!" protested Alice.

Her stepmother met her eyes.  
"Better me than your father?" she asked.

"It may be - intimate!" flushed Alice.

"From Mr. Kowalski?" said Mrs. Pierce sceptically.

Alice considered this for a moment and, rather regretfully, accepted her stepmother was probably right.

"Would you rather it was burnt unread," Mrs. Pierce offered, moving to the fire.

Alice slumped.  
"No - read it," she agreed.

Her stepmother scanned the letter, smiled, than read out loud.  
"My dear Miss Pierce,  
While cognisant of the honour you do me with your letter, I cannot consent to your request for an elopement..."

"He's turning me down?" squeaked Alice, outraged.

"...Nor to a clandestine correspondence, so expressly forbidden by your father, while you are still under age. Therefore this letter is addressed openly to yourself, not - as you suggested, to your maid."

Alice caught her father's horrified, incredulous stare and, although she raised her chin defiantly - blushed.

"...Pray be assured, my feelings remain unchanged and will continue to do so. Upon the day you attain your majority, I will renew my offer of marriage, if your own sentiments have not, in the meantime, undergone a revision.  
Yours respectfully... etc."

Both father and daughter looked stunned by this.

"What a cold fish!" was Pierce's, involuntary, comment.  
"He won't even write to me?" huffed Alice, in unison. "Doesn't he WANT to marry me?"

"That's not QUITE what it says, Alice," smiled Mrs. Pierce.

"He expects me to wait until I'm twenty-one!"

"Unless your father changes his mind, so it seems."

"That's YEARS away!"

"Fourteen months, Alice. Not years."

"It's forever!" Alice whirled round and stared at her father. "Daddy, you HAVE to change your mind!" Her father's last remark finally registered. Her flush deepened from wild rose, to peony. "AND - don't you DARE call him a cold fish!!! He loves me passionately. PASSIONATELY!!! It's just he's..." she searched, "... he has a lot of old-fashioned ideas about honour and ... and waiting. And he wants me to be absolutely sure of my feelings ...But he's wrong - I'll never change my mind!" Again the foot stamped on the floor, "You have to give us permission to marry, Daddy!! Because Jozef is so stubborn, I'll never talk him into running away. The only time I visited his rooms, he just put on his hat and dragged me straight home. I told him - if he ruined my reputation you'd HAVE to let us get married - to stop the scandal. But he wouldn't listen - he said I had no idea what I was talking about!"

Her father gaped, open-mouthed, at this.

"If you don't let me marry Jozef, Daddy, I'll, I'll..." her tiny fists clenched and unclenched frantically as she sought a threat bad enough. Finally with a frustrated, high-pitched, puff of breath, she was forced to carry on "...Well, I don't know WHAT I'll do!! But whatever it is - you'll be sorry!!"

"If you marry without permission, it won't be me that'll be sorry. You won't see a penny of my money - and you can tell Kowalski - neither will he!"

"Jozef doesn't care about money!! He's too noble. Like the king of France - he would take me in my shift and count me the greatest of his treasures!" Alice shot back, triumphantly, if not with textual accuracy.

Taking a calm sip of coffee, Mrs. Pierce, put in fairly, "I must say, Darling, whatever other objections you may have to Mr. Kowalski - I don't think he is a fortune hunter. In fact, all in all, HE appears to be behaving very well."

Her husband glowered at his daughter.  
"He'll care about money fast enough, married to you, my girl. Do you really think you could survive a week on an Engineer's salary?" Taking a knife, he began to slit open the next couple of letters on his pile of correspondence.

Alice drew herself up proudly.  
"Fortune means nothing to me! What can wealth or grandeur have to do with happiness? I will embrace poverty with..."

She halted, as she saw her father's trembling hand holding up a couple of documents. To Alice's practised eye - his reaction told her all too clearly - bills!!

"$500 for a horse!!" he gasped, rising to his feet. "You've a fine saddle mare and two carriage horses already!! What the Sam Hill have you bought another for?"

"Daddy!! The grey mare is fine when I wear my cerulean blue riding habit. But my new habit came back from the dressmaker today. The most wonderful shade of amber. However, when I held it against Cloud, it looked - insipid. So, I gave a swatch of fabric to a very, very helpful gentleman at Perrington's Stables - and he found me the most beautiful black gelding. He'll set off the colour admirably."

"You bought a $500 dollar thoroughbred with a fancy pedigree - just to match your dress??!!"

"Not to match, Daddy! That would be - rather vulgar. I bought him to give a tasteful contrast." She blinked, "It's only $500. Oh - and $75 for a new saddle. I needed a slightly cooler shade of leather, to tone with the amber."

Her father closed his eyes, searching for patience. Alice turned to her stepmother.  
"What was I saying, before Daddy interrupted?"

"Something about - embracing poverty, dear."

"Oh yes," Alice took a breath and went on, "Keep your money, father - money means nothing to me..." Again she tailed off, seeing another suspicious document raised before her father's, outraged, eyes.

"$200 for a dressing case!!" he fumed, "What's it made of? Solid gold?"

"Don't be silly Daddy! Even the bottle lids aren't gold. They're silver. Only my initials are inlaid in gold."

Watching her father's fist crush the bill and descend with a thump, which set the breakfast china rattling, Alice whisked around, quickly.

"I'll leave you to your letters, Daddy. We can talk about Jozef another time." She left the room with - rapid - dignity, spoilt only by the fact that a laced flounce was caught in her haste to get away, forcing her to reopen the door to free it.

Mrs. Pierce watched her husband's shoulders slump forward, as he retook his seat.

"Between the pair of you - and the lousy sales figures - I'll be ruined!" he groaned. "All the money I spent developing the new model - wasted! Customers admire it. Say it's leaps and bounds above what they have -but they don't sign on the dotted line and buy it."

"Never mind, darling!" she said soothingly, moving behind to massage his shoulders. His last speech brought a frown to her previously smooth brow. "Are the sales really bad, Theodore?"

"Down nearly 70 on last year."

"That much!" exclaimed his wife, tone much sharper than before, "- what's the capacity utilisation on the main press?"

"Less than 45 - stamping under 2 tons a day!" he sighed.

Her hands froze on his shoulders.  
"But we need a throughput of at least 3.4 tons per day simply to cover fixed costs! Any less - we're running at a loss," she protested, her shrewd eyes displaying the rapid arithmetic going on in that lovely head.

His face swivelled up, surprised at this. She wiped off the calculating look, gave a helpless smile and batted her lashes.  
"Have I got that right, Theo?" she simpered, "I do try so hard to take an interest in your business." The blue eyes blinked at him admiringly, "But, I've no head for figures - not like you! You're so clever, darling."

She kissed his forehead.  
"Humph," he said, mollified. A smug smile replaced the look of gloom. "Actually, you're right! Something I read in the paper this morning gave me an idea. How to make customers as keen to upgrade their equipment, as they were two years ago."

Standing up, he drained his coffee cup and walked to the door. "If anyone enquires - I've gone over to the Bannerman offices. I'll be at the works by eleven at the latest." He turned, "See if you can do something to make Alice see reason. Why don't you - take her out of the city for a while? A change of air - and company! Introduce her to someone more - more ..." he gave up the search. "To someone else! I don't know what she sees in him anyway!"

Mrs. Pierce, murmured, "Bannerman offices?" as she watched her husband depart. Sitting down, she picked up the paper he had been brooding over before becoming distracted by domestic matters. She read the article that had held his attention. Her eyes widened at a pair of familiar names. Warm memories made a delighted smile flash over her face. Her eyes sparkled. "Those two!" she breathed. Her quick mind worked. "So Theodore means to find ..." she broke off, catching her bottom lip between the white teeth. "Oh but I don't think this Bannerman detective will ..." A musing expression was added to the smile. "Perhaps Alice and I should take a little trip after all. Do our part in bolstering the order book!" The smile widened. "I can renew my acquaintance with some - old, old friends."

---oooOOOooo---

**MEANWHILE - IN AN OFFICE IN ANOTHER PART OF THE CITY**

Henry Brooker glowered at the figures in front of him, then transferred the glower to his bespectacled secretary.  
"Still well down on last year, Dawkins," he growled.

As this was not a question, Mr. Dawkins did not vouchsafe a reply.

"We projected ten times this many orders, by the end of last month," went on Brooker, in an accusing tone.

Again there was no answer.

"I thought that new fellow you had me hire, was supposed to be so smart. Thought this new model was the greatest piece of engineering, we'd ever done. The best money could buy." He frowned once more at the ledger. "So, how come the customers don't agree?"

Mr. Dawkins coughed, deferentially.  
"The problem is not with the new model, sir. All the tests, all the customer feedback from demonstrations, agree - it is excellent. A great improvement. The problem - if it can be so called - is with the previous model."

"The previous model?" scowled Brooker.

"Yes, sir. It has proved - too reliable. No matter how excellent the technical advances offered - our customers simply do not see any real advantage in purchasing an upgrade."

Henry Brooker, still scowling at his secretary, mused on that, then, reluctantly nodded. He pulled, deeply, on the fine Cuban cigar held between his fingers. Watching his secretary's eyes, he said, "Any ideas? Out with it, Dawkins. I know that look."

Mr. Dawkins gave a modest smile.  
"Not exactly an idea, Sir. But I did notice an article in today's paper, worthy of attention. In the section transcribing items of interest from small town journals."

He handed a folded newspaper to his employer, pointing with one bony finger.

"What price justice? Today in Hadleyburg, the answer to this oft repeated question is $30,000!!" read Brooker. He looked up at Mr. Dawkins and shrugged, "So?"

"Read on, sir," smiled his secretary. "There are two familiar names involved. Two names we have not encountered for some time. Two names we used to dread hearing. But now - I think we realise - they actually served us very well, in delivering a certain level of - product obsolescence." As he watched Brooker read, he added, "You might also give the list of witnesses some scrutiny. It suggests - possibilities."

Brooker finished the article. For several minutes he silently stared at the wall, wrapped in thought. Slow smoke rings rose to the ceiling. Then, he met the other man's eyes.  
"Dawkins, get me an appointment with the head man of the Bannerman office here in San Francisco. Any time in the next hour will do!"

"Bravo, sir!" smiled Mr. Dawkins, "What an excellent idea!"

---oooOOOooo---

**CHAPTER ONE**

**ABOUT A WEEK LATER - A small coastal town south of San Francisco. Wednesday**

Hannibal Heyes, breakfast pushed aside, frowned out at the quiet main street. He sighed. His partner, Kid Curry, breakfast not pushed aside followed his partner's frown. In his opinion, the view of a pretty - if sedate - resort town, had nothing about it, deserving such disapproval. With a shrug, Kid decided to ignore the cloud on Heyes' brow and concentrate on the ham and eggs in front of him.

Heyes turned away from the window. His fingers drummed. His booted foot swung in time with the drumming - gently kicking the table leg. Kid watched the drumming fingers, shook his head at his own impulse to speak and took another mouthful of ham. Heyes picked up a knife and began to tap it. With another sigh, he moved it to the edge of the table, laid it flat and began to twang it.

Kid threw down his fork.  
"What the Sam Hill is wrong with you?"

Heyes blinked at his partner, he assumed an injured expression.  
"Why should anything be wrong? I never said a word!"

"That's one reason for a start," Kid picked up his fork, to attack his third egg. "You not saying a word!"

"Only yesterday, you complained 'bout never getting any peace an' quiet at breakfast," protested Heyes.

"Complain 'bout that most days," sniffed Kid. "You're not tellin' me I've succeeded in shuttin' you up after all these years." He looked at his partner's plate. "Are you not eatin' that?"

Heyes shook his head. Kid swapped his empty plate for Heyes' full one.

"I've been thinkin' Kid..."

"Knew it was too good to last!" grinned his partner.

Heyes scowled and continued, "Been thinkin' - this town's kinda slow!"

Once again Kid's fork clattered down.  
"Sheesh, Heyes. You picked this town! 'It's nice an' quiet, Kid,' you said. 'It's just what we need,' you said. 'Let the interest the Hadleyburg trial whipped up, die down', you said. 'We can do a little fishin' - just makin' sure no one's listenin' this time,' you said." He grabbed the fork and began to dissect Heyes' ham with undiminished appetite. "We've only been here two nights, Heyes - and here you are climbin' the walls!"

Heyes waited a moment.  
"You done?" he checked.

"Uh huh." A beat. "OK, Heyes, - out with it."

"Been thinking - about 'Frisco - less than five hours by train, Kid!"

For the third time, Kid's cutlery slammed into the tabletop.  
"You were yakkin' 'bout 'Frisco last night. 'Probably better not to risk it,' you said. 'Never know who might recognise us,' you said."

"Just... for once we actually came out ahead. We have us a little stake left over from those winnings at the Silver Palace ... even after," Heyes gave a little shiver at the memory, "- even after doin' around $30,000 worth of good in Hadleyburg."

"And the money you wired the Tapscotts," Kid growled, "- I've got that marked as your second good deed, Heyes!"

"Thought I better not leave it to you, Kid. You bein' so soft, these days ... you mighta sent 'em the shirts off our backs!" Heyes grinned, seeing his partner scowl. "Just seems - since we have a stake - we might wanna find us a nice rich - big city - poker game or two. Win us enough to winter south of the border. You never know - by the time the spring comes - the governor might justa found time to get around to our amnesty."

"Pfffttt!" snorted Kid, "Which spring are you thinkin' of, Heyes? Besides, only last night you were sayin' big city poker games are never worth the risk. Always a chance some professional gambler might know you."

"We could visit Silky," suggested Heyes.

"Are you forgettin' what he said, after that business at Red Rock," protested Kid! "Might as well just walk up to the desk at the main police station and hand ourselves in - save Silky the walk!"

"We're always welcome at Soapy Saunders' place. Couldn't you manage a few days of luxury up there on Nob Hill? A few nights sampling all that beautiful - wicked - big city has to offer?"

Pushing back his second empty plate, Kid swung his chair round and, with a grin, stretched out his legs.  
"Sure," he nodded. "Wasn't me spent last night comin' up with all the reasons to stay away." Pouring out a fresh cup of coffee, he added, "But - we've wired Lom now. Gotta wait for his reply. Make sure the Governor's been filled in with the real story 'bout Colorado Springs an' that jail break." He noticed his partner, not for the first time, check his vest pocket. "Out with it Heyes. What's got you itchin' to go to 'Frisco?"

With studied nonchalance, Heyes replied.  
"Nothin' - just thinkin' if - if we were to go to 'Frisco, we might just look in on this. Only if we happened to be passin', of course. Not suggestin' we make the trip special, nor nothin'" He handed over a much-fingered cutting, from a San Francisco newspaper.

Kid took it, smoothed it out and studied it.  
"Exhibition of innovation - showcasing the best in modern manufacturin'. Trade days - Open to the general public..." he blinked. He turned it over to make sure he was reading the right side. Shaking his head, Kid frowned, "Heyes - if this is what you meant when you talked about sampling what the beautiful - wicked - city has to offer - I'm happy enough stickin' to the blameless life I'd planned livin' here for a week or so."

"Oh well," shrugged Heyes, with a display of unconcern, "It was only an idea." He stared casually out of the window. "Just thought, if we did happen to drop by, I might take a look at stand 12. Or 17. Maybe both. If we had time."

Kid held the cutting out and pulling back his head, scanned the small print.  
"Stand 12 - Demonstration model of the new Brooker 808 safe - a revolution in security. Stand 17 - Pierce an' ..." He broke off and stared, torn between incredulity and amusement. "You wanna go stand in line to gawp an' drool over a coupla safes? Haven't you seen enough safes to last you a life time, Heyes?"

Abandoning his pretended indifference, Heyes leaned forward, eyes alight with excitement. Pushing back his hair, he smiled persuasively at Kid.  
"These aren't just safes, Kid. This Pierce an' Hamilton '81: Model Centurion A - it's made of high tungsten content tool steel, got a four axis bolting system, closure to within 10 microns..."

"Heyes."

"-and there's an inner skin of pressure fused maraging steel. The tumblers self randomise if two consecutive errors in the numberin..."

"Heyes - you have remembered - we're straight now! Don't matter if its made o' tar paper and only fastened with a soft-boiled carrot - makes no difference to us." He stared at his partner's eager face. "Does it Heyes?"

With a boyish grin, Heyes said, "Only wanted to take a look, Kid. I promise I won't - drool. I'll be cool as a cucumber. I'll stifle a yawn. If anyone speaks to me, I'll feign ignorance - ask what the dial on the front is for."

Kid shook his head, grinning at this.  
"Like I say - gotta wait to hear from Lom. Probably won't be more'n a day or two." Draining his cup, he went on, "Tell you what - you run on up to 'Frisco - knock yourself out, gaspin', 'Will ya take a look at the tumblers on that!' an' groanin' when they let you finger the hinges - I'll join you at Soapy's once the telegram comes in."

Heyes looked concerned.  
"You don't mind?"

"Mind missin' some exhibition full of dull men working 'emselves up over cogs an' levers? I'll get over it, Heyes." A pair of pretty young girls, in shady seaside hats, entered the small restaurant. Catching the appreciative eye of the handsome blond customer, they hid giggles behind their gloved hands. Kid nodded to them, then grinned at his partner. "I kinda like this slow town - daresay I can amuse myself for a day or so."

---oooOOOooo---

**A STATION PLATFORM**

Later that day, ticket in vest pocket, Heyes watched the train destined for the northward journey to San Francisco shunt into a siding. Railway employees shovelled coal into the tender, while an incoming locomotive, from the city, disgorged passengers onto the platform.

From force of habit, Heyes tipped down his hat and averted his face from the unknown strangers, wary of any sudden cry of recognition. Then, a familiar nattily dressed figure, carrying a small carpetbag, caught his eye. With a smooth movement, Heyes strode over, caught the surprised man by the elbow and hustled him to a quiet spot, out of sight.

This turned both men's backs to two elegant, veiled, ladies stepping down from the far end of the train. Neither man gave them a glance. The women, busy adjusting flounces, gloves and summoning a porter did not notice two swift stepping figures disappear behind the waiting room.

"Harry," Heyes said, with an edge to his voice, "What the Sam Hill are you doing here?" He frowned, "Are you followin' us? Did you pick up our trail from Hadleyburg?" The shifty look on Harry's face at this question answered it clearly enough. "What is it Harry? 'Cause Kid an' I - we kinda feel we've done enough favours for the Bannerman agency for one month!"

The conductor began to slam doors on the southbound train, preparatory to departure. The two ladies had, with the remainder of the disembarking arrivals, left the platform.

"I'm not here on Bannerman business, Heyes," soothed Harry. "Fact is - the boss was so pleased with how the business out at Colorado Springs went - when I asked for a week or two of leave - he agreed. I'm here..." he avoided Heyes' eyes, "- I'm here on a little business of my own. Kinda - a favour." His voice took on an unconvincing persuasiveness. "A favour for - for a friend."

The whistle blew. An engine picked up steam and ground slowly away from the platform.

Harry gave an ingratiating smile, "You know - I can always be relied on to do a favour for a friend, Heyes. After all, what are friends for?"

"Uh huh," said Heyes, hands on hips. "This kindness, you're planning on doin' this friend of yours - it don't involve me an' Kid?"

"No! No, no," protested Harry, unconvincingly. Under his breath, he added, "Not you AND Kid, no."

Out of the corner of his eye, Heyes saw levers being heaved into place to change the points. The driver was ambling over towards the northbound train.

"Well Harry," Heyes smiled, "I'd love to stay an' chat - but I've got a train to catch. Hope this - friend - appreciates you the way Kid an' I do."

Harry looked around, as if noticing for the first time; he was one outlaw short of the full two barrels.  
"Speakin' of Kid - where is he?"

"Back in the town," Heyes grinned, "We're not joined at the hip y'know, Harry."

Harry, however, was now frowning from Heyes, to the train and back again.  
"You're catchin' that train?"

"Plannin' to," nodded Heyes, moving off.

Harry bustled after him.  
"But - that's the San Francisco train."

"Just as well - since that's where I'm headed."

Harry thought about this.  
"You're about to leave for San Francisco?" he clarified.

"Can't beat you Bannermen when it comes to deductin', Harry," Heyes swung himself into one of the cars. "You don't have a problem with me visitin' 'Frisco, do you?"

"No!" protested Harry. He grinned, "NO! Not at all! No!" The grin broadened, "In fact, I think I'll join you!"

Heyes stared at him, as he pulled himself onto the train.  
"But ..." he protested, "-you musta just come from there?"

"It's a big place, Heyes. Can stand bein' visited twice." Harry settled himself back into a seat. "YOU don't have a problem with ME goin' to 'Frisco, do you?"

Heyes frowned and then shrugged, "Suppose it IS a big city. Room for both of us."

Harry shifted, as the ex-outlaw's dark eyes rested on him, musingly. He knew well enough, Heyes brain was working on the puzzle of what he, Harry Briscoe, was up to.

---oooOOOooo---

**THE LOBBY OF PALMER'S HOTEL - in the same quiet resort town**

The elder of the two ladies from the station, tinged the bell, on the third hotel counter that afternoon. A desk clerk appeared, smiling obsequiously, at the sight of two such obviously wealthy potential customers.

"I wonder if you could help me?" smiled the beautiful, auburn-haired woman. After a glance at the empty lounge, she lifted her veil. "I believe an acquaintance of mine is currently in town - a Mr. Joshua Smith. Is he, perhaps, staying here?"

"He was, madam."

"Was?" an enquiring lift to the finely arched brow.

"He checked out, about two hours ago, madam."

The younger lady, let out a muffled 'Oh!' of frustration. "We're too late" she exclaimed, pretty brow wrinkling. Her foot was gently pressed and she said no more.

Her companion gave the clerk a charming smile, "Do you happen to know where he has gone?"

"I really couldn't say, madam," was the discrete reply. Both ladies in unison treated him to dazzling smiles. Two sets of lovely eyes appealed to him. Lashes fluttered. The clerk coughed and ran a finger round the inside of his collar. Very discretely, the first lady allowed her hand, resting lightly on the counter, to shift, showing the golden eagle held ready as a tip. "But," went on the clerk, "-as Mr. Smith - to my knowledge - neither hired nor purchased a horse - and there is no stage through town - he can only have gone by train. If I were hazarding a guess - I would say he left for San Francisco."

Again, there was a smothered squeak of vexation from the rosy lips of the young girl. Again, at a glance, she subsided.

The elder lady moved to hand over the golden coin, then hesitated, as if struck by a sudden thought.  
"I suppose Mr. Jones - Mr. Thaddeus Jones - accompanied Mr. Smith?"

"No, madam. Mr. Jones is still in residence."

"Still here?"

"Yes, madam. May I give him a message upon his return?"

"No!" realising this had come out too sharply, she smiled, then repeated more calmly, "No, thank you. You understand - we'd like to surprise Mr. Jones. He has no idea an old, old friend is in town."

---oooOOOooo---

**OUTSIDE IN THE STREET**

Outside in the street Mrs. Pierce pulled her protesting stepdaughter along.  
"Not here, Alice! We can't risk Mr. - Mr. Jones seeing us together."

"But if Hannibal Heyes -," at a meaning glance from her stepmother, she corrected herself, "- I mean, Joshua Smith, has already left for San Francisco - that detective must have persuaded him! Maybe you were wrong. Maybe we don't need to do anything after all. All that preparation - making that deposit in the safe - was wasted." Scampering, to keep up with the taller woman's rapid strides, she furrowed her brow. "Of course -although in one way, that's good news - in another it's a dreadful shame. Because it was fun. I was looking forward to seeing if we could manage it. And - you know - you did promise, if I could think of a way of working on Daddy, over my marriage - you'd let me add it in to the plan!"

Once they had rounded the corner from the hotel, Mrs. Pierce slowed her pace, to an elegant saunter. Releasing Alice's elbow, she unfurled her blush coloured sunshade and held it to shield her face from any passing ex-outlaws.

"Let me think," she said. A beat. "This Mr. Briscoe cannot possibly have had time to persuade Joshua..."

"Why do you call him that, even when we're alone, when his name is really..."

"Because," interrupted her stepmother, decidedly, "It isn't safe to use their real names. And it isn't -" she almost blushed, at saying something verging on the sentimental. Almost. "It isn't - fair. We may be planning to - to use them. But we're not planning to land them in jail for twenty years."

"I can't see it matters. As long as they finish the job first," said Alice, bluntly.

"It DOES matter!" came the firm response. "Even when plotting and scheming - there is a certain etiquette to be followed. One may deceive and manipulate - but if we allowed Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones to come to serious harm, well ..." she paused, "...well - it's really not done, Alice." She frowned, "Where was I? Mr. Briscoe cannot have persuaded Joshua. In the first place - there simply wasn't time. Joshua must have left by the noon train. In the second place - well - I just happened to - overhear - the meeting between Briscoe and your father. He couldn't talk anyone - let alone a man like Joshua - into anything."

"Well, he wouldn't be using the power of persuasion, would he?" argued Alice, "So that wouldn't matter. Daddy will be paying."

"Joshua won't be bribed into this - not with money, anyhow."

Alice looked at her incredulously.  
"Why on earth not? He's a thief!" She frowned, "What do you mean - a man like him? I thought it was the other one -Ki..." she caught the other woman's eye, "...I mean, Thaddeus Jones, who you knew by sight. Because you were a passenger, on a train he robbed. And then you saw him again - using the alias 'Jones'."

Her stepmother blinked. She thought carefully before answering, slowly, "Yes - but from what he said about his partner -,"

"What he said!" squeaked Alice. "You mean you spoke to him?" An idea struck her. "Oh! Is that why you want me to do the - the enticing? Because you think he may remember you? I see. I wondered about that. No doubt, I CAN. I mean -" she laughed, with unaffected, simple complacency, "- OBVIOUSLY I'll be able to get Thaddeus Jones to do as I suggest. Why wouldn't he want to spend time with - well - with someone as lovely as me? Any man would jump at the chance. But ..." she drew breath and went on, "But, I have to say Grace, you could do it perfectly well, yourself." She smiled at her stepmother. "You are very, very good-looking too! Even though you are quite old."

Mrs. Pierce swallowed a retort at this.

Alice continued, "It's because you're so beautiful that, my Aunt Matty hates you; and Laura Collingwood. Always saying you're too young for Daddy. And that they suspect you have a past! I mean not just a past being the widow of a respectable businessman. A PAST!! And that you only married Daddy for his money. Well -," she twirled her sunshade and bestowed a bewitching smile and flutter, on an approaching young man, causing him to gaze yearningly at her, as he walked into a hitching post, "- I think you married Daddy for his money too. In fact, you've never really tried to pretend anything else to me. But..." she gave her stepmother a genuinely warm look, "- you make him happy. And - I know he'll miss me, when I marry. So I'm glad he's found someone, to be happy with."

Mrs. Pierce looked a little disconcerted at this. Again, she almost blushed. Almost.

"Anyway," went on Alice, "it's ridiculous of Laura Collingwood to snipe about you. Because, everyone knows, she tried for years to get Daddy to pop the question! And - if I were a rich man - going to settle a fortune on my wife - I'd do what he did. Pick someone beautiful, clever and amusing, who flattered me and made me feel young again. I wouldn't pick HER - always boring on about her family background - and good society - and," she scowled, "- telling me my daughter is a flighty, extravagant, spoilt minx!" With a shake of her curls, she finished, "She's only jealous of you."

Her stepmother smiled.  
"I had - just about - managed to work that out, Alice. But," the smile widened, "I am, of course, glad to have my judgement confirmed, by such an - impartial - observer."

Alice grinned at this. "At first, even I was a little envious of your looks. BUT, once I'd had a chance to think it over I realised that you being tall, handsome and - queenly, with red -,"

"Titian!" snapped her stepmother.

"With - titian hair," corrected Alice, cheerfully, "Is a perfect foil for my ethereal, golden loveliness." She twirled her sunshade, with perfect serenity. "Side by side," she stated, simply, "We make a perfect picture!" There was a brief lull in the conversation. "So - am I right?" prompted Alice.

"About what in particular, dear? You said so much."

"About Thaddeus Jones. You think he'll remember you?"

"I don't THINK so, Alice. I'm absolutely SURE of it!"

Alice opened her eyes at the hint of a purr in her stepmother's voice. "Grace! Did - something happen with Ki-, - with Thaddeus Jones that you haven't told me about?" With a certain bounce of excitement in her step, she breathed, "He didn't - didn't ravish you, did he? Like Captain Lovelace √ the gentleman highwayman? Galloping away with you across his saddlebow, to seduce you beneath the stars, ignoring your cries of protest as he crushed you to his chest! Overcoming your resistance, with the fiery passion of his searing kisses?"

Grace blinked. "What on earth have you been reading, Alice?" Thinking for a moment, keen to deviate from the truth as little as possible - as a certain verisimilitude always makes a story easier to remember, she said, "Mr. Jones' treatment of me - was everything that could be desired." Less equivocally, she went on, "I am sure he would never ignore any woman's cries of protest. You'll be perfectly safe, Alice." With a smile, she added, "Unless of course - you choose otherwise."

Alice didn't respond immediately. A well-dressed gentleman was watching the ladies pass. He received such a winning glance, from a pair of innocently wide, cornflower blue eyes, accompanied by a guileless smile from the tempting pouting roseleaf lips, that the match he was holding to his cigar burnt down unheeded. He gave a yelp, shaking his singed fingers.

"Alice," protested Grace, "Stop it!"

"I'm only practising!"

"You don't need to practice - you're a natural."

Alice grinned again, "Is he very handsome - Thaddeus Jones?"

"I thought you were in love? What do you care?"

"I'm only asking!" pouted Alice, "And yes - I AM in love. Oh, Grace - do you think Daddy will change his mind?"

"Well," said her stepmother, carefully, "I certainly think, if you married, he'd soon change his mind about cutting you off without a penny." She gave Alice a very straight look. "Your father adores you, Alice. Deep down - he only wants you to be happy. You do know that?"

Alice sighed. "I know. But he thinks marrying Charles Hamilton Webley III, will make me happier than marrying Jozef Kowalski." She mused for a moment. "Do you think if Jozef thought I was about to succumb to the charms of a startlingly handsome and passionately enamoured outlaw - it might," she sighed, again, "- might make him a bit keener to do something now, rather than wait until I'm twenty-one."

Grace shrugged, "Maybe. For now - just worry about the plan." She stopped, biting her lip, "As everything is moving a little faster than we expected, I'd better head back by the evening train." She eyed her stepdaughter, doubtfully. "Don't forget, Alice, - your role is grateful, admiring damsel in distress. Stay with that. But don't lay it on too thick. Thaddeus is - susceptible - but he's no fool. And remember - men like to do most of the talking."

"Are you suggesting I talk too much?" huffed Alice.

"Yes," said Grace, bluntly, "Far too much."

---oooOOOooo---

**STILL OUTSIDE IN THE STREET - BUT LATER**

Kid walked out of the telegraph office, with a cheerful sparkle in his blue eyes. He has spent the day down by the seafront. Partly watching out for any attractive girls visiting the charming little resort town. But mostly observing the fishing boats, bobbing into the small harbour, to unload their catch. There is little more soothing to watch than people messing about on tranquil, sunlit waters, nor more soothing to listen to than the lapping of waves on a calm day. Even the ever-alert Kid Curry had not been able to help relaxing during his long, lazy afternoon. Now, as a bonus, Lom's wire had come in earlier than expected. It was brief and necessarily guarded. But - it was - as far as it went, positive. 'Their mutual friend' - the governor - 'now understood circumstances of past few weeks. No change to previous arrangement. Continuing to press for early answer.'

The ex-outlaw smiled to himself as he folded the telegram and tucked it into a pocket. For once, he had enough money to look forward to a deep, hot tub, a prime steak dinner, a few drinks, a cigar, perhaps a little friendly poker, followed by a comfortable bed in - if not the fanciest hotel in town - a place several rungs up from the cheap rooms the partners had become only too used to. This, coupled with the expectation of a few days of luxury in San Francisco, made a pleasant change to the past year's usual drifting from town to town, often on their last dollar.

About to stride off, Kid heard a muffled sob. In fact - several muffled sobs. He followed the direction of the sound, down a narrow passageway between telegraph office and the neighbouring mercantile.

"Ma-am," he said, "Is something wrong?"

The small, white clad figure, leaning against the clapboard wall, head in hands, did not respond. Except to give another plaintive sob.

Kid took another step forward.

"Anything I can do, ma-am?" he tried again.

The tiny hands, tipped with nails buffed to a rosy shine, were lowered. A beseeching, flower-like face, gazed up timorously at Kid. The ex-outlaw's mouth did not precisely drop open, but he felt - if it had, he could be excused. She was - lovely. The appeal in those wide eyes, blue as his own, was enchanting. The curling lashes were bedewed with sparkling, unshed tears. Those lashes, now demurely lowered under Kid's admiring gaze, were of a much deeper honey colour than the pale blonde hair. This was simply swept up; with fragile, waving tendrils nodding around the slender white neck and caressing the peach bloom flush on the cheeks. The rosy lips parted, to breathe a modest, 'Oh', of surprise at being overheard. She blushed and lowered her head, peeping up at him bashfully, before with a deepening flush, fixing her eyes shyly on the toes of her dainty kid boots.

Curry swept off his hat.

"Anything I can do, ma-am?" he repeated, glad the 'Wow!' echoing in his head had stayed there - and not blurted out at his first view of this - ethereal, golden loveliness.

She shook her head.

"Oh no," she whispered, "I couldn't possibly trouble you." But the modest words were belied by a certain, imploring look in the girl's eyes.

"No trouble at all, ma-am," he said. He took a step forward. Like a nervous fawn, she stepped back, trembling. Kid halted. He withdrew a pace. Very gently he asked, "Has someone frightened you, ma-am?"

She shook her head, frantically, setting the burnished curls dancing in the sunlight. Then, with a tentative glance into his eyes, she gave a tiny nod and wiped away a diamond bright tear.

She gazed at him, lower lip caught between her teeth, as if determining whether to trust him. Then she moved toward him.

Looking up, she gulped, "Oh, I've been stupid! Everyone will be so cross with me. And..." as if overcome by her feelings, she grasped the edges of Kid's vest and rested her smooth forehead on his shirtfront. With a fresh sob, she went on, "...I don't know what to do!"

---oooOOOooo---

Three minutes later, she was sitting with Kid, on a low wall, with a view of the sea. She leant against him, a strong comforting arm around her shoulders. The remains of her tears were being tenderly wiped away with a corner of his bandana. Gazing up, eyes full of grateful admiration; she was met with a reassuring smile.

"So you got off the train ...?" he prompted.

"Just to stretch my legs," she nodded. "When she saw me off, my aunt warned me not to leave the carriage - and not to talk to strangers. But -" she dropped her eyes shamefaced, "- it was so hot in the train. I knew there was a twenty-minute stop. I thought - I'd step out for a breath of air. And the gentlemen seemed so kind - at first. They just remarked how sultry it was - and wouldn't I rather sit for a moment in the shade - and perhaps bathe my wrists in cool water." She hung her head, "And I let one of them offer me his arm. But, once we were away from the platform..." she swallowed.

"They stopped being kind?" said Kid, very gently.

She nodded.

"They didn't - hurt you, did they?" he asked, eyes taking on a dangerous glint for a moment.

"Not really - no. They took my purse - and my watch. Then one of them tried to kiss me. I was so frightened. I broke away - and ran - and hid. I don't THINK they followed me - but suppose they did? Suppose they're watching now - waiting for you to go?"

"I'm not plannin' on goin' anywhere," smiled Kid, wiping away one last tear from a velvet soft cheek.

"Even so," she sighed, "-what am I to do? All my luggage went on without me to San Francisco. The servant will come to meet me at the station - and I won't be there. Daddy will be so worried." She looked up, earnestly, "That's why I found the telegraph office - I thought I'd send a wire saying I was safe and well and not to worry."

"Sounds like a good plan," approved Kid.

"But I haven't a single cent to pay for it!" she finished. "Let alone enough for a hotel room. Nor a ticket for tomorrow's train!"

"No need to worry about that," smiled the ex-outlaw. "If you'll allow me, ma-am?"

"Oh, how kind you are, Mr..." she lowered her lashes, shyly, "I don't even know your name."

"Jones, ma-am. Thaddeus Jones."

"How kind you are - Mr. Jones."

"Just - Thaddeus."

"How kind you are -" he received an admiring, modest flutter, "- Thaddeus."

"It's my pleasure -?" he raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Alice," she breathed. "Alice Pi-Smith," she faltered, frowning at her own slip.

"It's my pleasure, Alice Persmith," he smiled.

"Just - Smith," she corrected. With a sudden, dazzling smile, she improvised, "- Psmith. The 'p' is silent in speech. As in 'psalm', or," she could not resist a mischievous grin, "- pseudonym!"

"Uh huh?" said Kid, a little thrown by this. He cleared his throat. Reluctantly, but conscious it was the right thing to do, he said, "You should report this to the Sheriff, ma-am."

"Oh no!" she gasped, clutching one of his large hands in her two tiny ones, "I'd be so embarrassed! Please..." she squeezed his hand and gazed up with wide-eyed distress, "Please, Mr. Jones - Thaddeus, please don't make me go to the Sheriff! I couldn't bear it! Please."

Since Kid had not the smallest desire to go near the Sheriff, even without the forget-me-not pleading look, he would have been easy enough to persuade.

"Not if it upsets you, ma-am," he said.

"Oh, thank you! How good you are!" A surprised Kid, received a gentle kiss on the cheek, "I think you must be the most wonderful man in the world!" She smiled up at him, worshipfully, "In fact - you are so kind - I wonder -" she laid a soft hand on his shirtfront, "- May I ask you to do something else for me?"

"What did you have in mind, ma-am?"

The smile took on an enchanting, entreating quality, "Would you escort me to my home in San Francisco tomorrow? I'd feel - frightened - travelling alone."

Kid blinked. The suspicion she may be a bounty hunter flitted across his mind. He dismissed it. She had just turned down a chance to walk into a Sheriff's Office with him - a perfect opportunity to hand him over to the law, if that was her aim. Besides, thought Kid, searching the angelic face gazing up at him with such trust, such - a certain smug expression settled on Kid's features - admiration; who could believe anything bad of this lovely - perfect - girl.

Alice searched his face.  
"AND," she continued, tilting her head appealing, "...then my father will be able to repay you for my ticket and night's lodging! And I'm sure he'll want to reward you!"

With a self-deprecating shrug, Kid said, "Pleasure of your company will be reward enough!"

Alice - there is no other word for it - simpered, before replying, "Oh - Daddy will insist, I know him." After a brief pause, she added, "Daddy is very rich." Kid made no further protest. "So," checked Alice, "-you agree?"

"Was plannin' on leaving for 'Frisco tomorrow anyway, ma-am."

"And - you'll escort me until I'm safely home."

"Sure will!"

"I have your word on that?"

Kid frowned, at the sudden sharpening in her tone. "Thought I already gave that, ma-am."

She switched the dazzling smile back on, "I'm sorry - it's just such a comfort to have you to - to rely on, Thaddeus! Shall we go and send my telegram now?"

"Good idea, ma-am," he said, helping her to her feet.

"Please," she fluttered, holding his hand for longer than was strictly necessary, "Please, call me Alice."

"Good idea - Alice," Kid smiled.

...oooOOOooo...

Alice emerged from the telegraph office, skipped up to Kid, who was leaning against the white painted wall and tucked her arm confidingly through his.

"All done," she trilled, "Shall we go and book my room now?"

"Sure," smiled Kid, "And I hope - Alice - you'll allow me to buy you dinner tonight?"

"Oh yes, Thaddeus. That would be wonderful!"

Kid turned to head down the street containing the modest hotel at which he was staying. Alice stopped dead. His armed jerked. The ex-outlaw looked down enquiringly.

"Where are you going, Thaddeus?"

"To Palmer's - that's where I'm stay..."

Alice interrupted, "I thought I'd be staying at the Hotel del Monte - that's the best hotel in town."

"Yeah, but - it's a little price..." he stopped himself, "That is, I thought you might feel - safer - booked into the same hotel as me."

"Of course I would Thaddeus. You can book into the Hotel del Monte too. Palmer's won't mind - as long as you've already paid for the room there."

Kid hesitated in the face of that trusting, expectant smile. Then, he smiled back. After all, for once he was not down to his last dollar. What was money for, if not spending? And, what better to spend it on than a girl as beautiful - and sweet - as Alice?

The couple mounted the steps to the spacious lobby. Kid approached the desk. A supercilious clerk, with an English accent, which was doubtless reflected appropriately in the room rate, raised an expressively disdainful eyebrow.

"Yes -" A beat, "- Sir?"

"We need a room - just for the one night," said Kid.

"AAA...room, Sir?" the clerk repeated, emphasising the singular and allowing his eyes to rest significantly on Alice's ring free fingers. She bridled at the disdainful look. Her eyes began to glitter.

"Apiece," added Kid, hurriedly, with an embarrassed glance at the girl beside him. "A room apiece. One each - so - two roo..."

Again, he was cut off mid word.

"No!" said Alice, firmly.

Kid swivelled his head to stare at her. For a moment - hope sprang eternal. Or rather, non-eternal hope sprang - for a moment.

"A room - and a suite," Alice instructed the clerk. With a smiling glance and return of the soft, feminine voice, she turned to Kid. "You understand, Thaddeus, I like to have a separate sitting room to relax in - before retiring." The authoritative tone back in place, her eyes returned to the clerk. "I will require fresh fruit in my suite. NO apples. And cut flowers, naturally. Please make certain the water in the vases is fresh. One of my friends stayed here last month and the violets on her dressing table had wilted."

The desk clerk blinked. He looked Alice - who had dishevelled herself just enough to lend credence to her story - up and down.

"I shall ensure a check is made," he said, with a hint of sarcasm. He was fixed with a basilisk stare. Alice waited. A beat. "I shall ensure a check is made, - madam," he corrected, without the sarcasm.

"Good!" said Alice. "See that you do! Please have one of the maids purchase a nightgown - silk - not cotton; and a toothbrush - and hairbrush, because as you can see - I have lost my luggage! Place it all on the bill. This gown will require laundering and ironing dry overnight. Ensure it is collected when I retire."

"Yes, madam," replied the clerk. "Will madam require a sea view?" He glanced at Kid, "- there is a supplement for a view, Sir."

"Certainly a view!" confirmed Alice. Again, a girlish smile was thrown to Kid, as an interlude to the orders, "I love to watch the waves, Thaddeus, don't you? It's so - romantic?" She turned back to the clerk, "And a balcony!"

"Of course, madam." The clerk turned the guest book toward Alice. "May I ask you to register, Miss -?"

"Smith!" she supplied. Signing with a flourish and a swirling capitalisation, she added, "The 'P' is silent, naturally."

The clerk turned the book towards Kid.

"Jones," said Kid, "With a 'J'."

"Does Sir have any particular requirements?"

"Nope. Any room with a bed's fine by me."

Kid would never have believed that booking into a hotel with such a vision of loveliness as Alice on his arm, he could receive a pitying look from another man. But he did.

---oooOOOooo---

**MEANWHILE, ON THE TRAIN TO SAN FRANCISCO**

Heyes, a copy of 'No Name', to which he had treated himself, from one of the town's well-stocked stores, in his hand, frowned. The unspeaking - though not exactly silent - Harry Briscoe opposite was spoiling his enjoyment of the battle of wits between the silver-tongued rogue, Captain Wragge and his wily opponent, Mrs. Lecount.

Harry shifted in his seat. He leant forward. He cleared his throat. He straightened up. With a sigh, he placed both hands on his knees and leant forward again. Changing his mind, he folded his arms, crossed his legs and threw himself back, staring from under his brows at the steadily reading figure opposite.

Heyes did not look up from his page, but a frown gathered on his brow.  
"Will you stop it, Harry!"

"Stop what, He..." he received a whip quick, dark look. "Stop what, Joshua?" Heyes, shifted his eyes back to his book and turned a page.

"Stop watchin' me like a cat waitin' by a mouse hole. Don't know quite what you're expectin', but these days, what you're seeing is pretty much all I do on a train. Unless I feel like takin' a nap - this is about as exciting as it's gonna get."

"He ..Hey, Joshua,"

"Yup?"

"I was wonderin'..." Harry paused.

"Yup. Kinda picked up on that, Harry. I can hear the wheels turnin'." The dark eyes continued to absorb the account of an accomplished confidence trickster plying his trade.

Again, the Bannerman detective placed both hands on his knees and leant forward. With a would-be discrete glance at the nearest passengers for any obvious eavesdropping, he brought his face close to Heyes.

In a furtive whisper he hissed, "Don't ya sometimes miss it, Joshua?"

Heyes turned another page.

"Miss what?" he said, deadpan, "- Napping?"

Harry's face scowled in frustration.

"NO!" Seeing a head or two, twitch in his direction, he dropped his voice and leant in closer. "No. Don't ya miss - the excitement?" He dropped his voice still lower and moved so close Heyes was forced to draw back his head. "Don't ya miss," again the close set eyes swivelled to check for listening ears, "-the thrill of crackin' safes?"

Heyes did not look up, but his eyes ceased to follow the text.

"Harry," he remarked, in a quiet tone.

"Yeah?"

"If you want to carry on this conversation - we'll step outta the carriage, get us a breath of fresh air on the vestibule."

"Sure," grinned the detective, beginning to rise.

"But," continued Heyes, in the same quiet tone, "I feel it only polite to let you know - only one of us will be comin' back."

Harry subsided into his seat, swallowing. Heyes returned to his perusal of Collins' novel. For a minute silence reigned. Then, Harry spoke up.

"Need to talk to you, Joshua."

"Kinda picked up on that, Harry."

"When we get to 'Frisco - can we find somewhere quiet - have a drink together?"

"Long as you're buyin'." Heyes gave a wry grin, "Course - only fair to warn you - I've got a feelin' I'm not gonna want to hear it."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He had the same feeling.

---oooOOOooo---


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**WITHIN THE LUXURIOUS WALLS OF THE HOTEL DEL MONTE**

By the time he fetched his gear from Palmer's and spent a relaxing half hour savouring a tub of the Hotel del Monte's piping hot water, any lingering doubts Kid had over switching to the best hotel in town had soaked away. Levering himself out, he wrapped a snowy white towel around his waist and padded over to the mirror. Rubbing away the steam, the ex-outlaw began to lather up to shave. He wanted to look his best for dinner with Alice. The memory of her transformation from blushing violet to demanding snapdragon in the lobby, momentarily creased his brow. Meeting his own blue eyes in the glass, Kid shrugged and shook his head. She had just been riled by the snooty receptionist – probably trying to hide her embarrassment and overdoing it a trifle.

A far more pleasant image took over. Kid smiled as he flicked the first swipe of stubble and foam from his jaw. He was picturing candlelight, wine and the loveliest forget-me-not gaze he had ever seen, full of admiration. He paused. Of course – it would never do to let a sweet, innocent girl get TOO fond of him. He swept the razor over the other side of his chin and then smiled again. One romantic evening, maybe a few gentle goodnight kisses – how much harm could that do? By this time tomorrow, she would be back in the bosom of her – grateful – with a slightly shamefaced glance at himself Kid added - RICH and grateful – family.

……

Thirty minutes later, smoothing down his curls and with a final satisfied smile in the mirror, Kid set off to enjoy a tender evening spent in the company of a beautiful, starry-eyed, adoring maiden. He knocked on the door of Alice's suite.

"Come in, Thaddeus," she trilled.

He went in. Alice looked at him. A silvery peal of girlish laughter rang out. She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes crinkled with amusement above it. Her shoulders shook. Kid blinked. He looked behind him for what was so funny. With a nervous glance down, he checked his fly. Everything seemed in order.

Alice saw the beginning of an annoyed expression on his face and swallowed down her giggles with an effort.

"Are you really going to wear that?" she managed, controlling herself, "I'm so sorry – I thought you'd put it on for a joke."

"What's wrong with it?" frowned Kid.

"Apart from the heinous cut, the execrable style, the egregious lapels and that gaudy braid trim –?" Alice blurted, "- Apart from that – nothing!" She grinned at his chagrined expression, with unfeigned cheerfulness. "Since it only fits where it touches – it's just as well you've an excellent figure, Thaddeus!" Straightening one of the – apparently egregious - lapels, she glanced up roguishly, "Before you leave San Francisco, I'm taking you to Daddy's tailor." She looked at him, appraisingly, "You look handsome even in," a snicker, " –THAT. In a decent suit – you'll be breathtaking!"

With that, she bounced out of the room, leaving a bemused Kid to follow in her wake. There had been such an amalgam of insult and compliment in the last thirty seconds, he was unsure how to react. At the same time, Alice was remembering her stepmother's words, 'grateful and admiring; stay with that'. Realising she had strayed from her script, Alice fluttered a worshipful look up at Kid and tucked her arm confidingly through his.

With a wry grin to himself, he looked down into that glowing, beautiful face, as the appealing smile trembled on those rose leaf lips. How naïve she was! How sweet! Like an innocent child, she just said whatever came into her head. Kid decided to dwell on the words 'excellent figure', 'handsome', and 'breathtaking'. After all – even after his stay here and dinner for two – he would have plenty left to change the suit.

"Oh, Thaddeus – I'm so looking forward to this evening," breathed Alice, lashes quivering. In a more natural tone, she asked, "Where shall we eat?" With a little skip of healthy appetite, she added with complete honesty, "I'm starving!"

This particular unfeminine admission did her no disservice whatsoever in Kid's eyes. "I'm sure the food's fine here," smiled Kid, "- Afterwards, I thought we'd walk down to the bay. See how pretty the moonlight looks on the water. Course –" the smile widened, "- won't be near as pretty as you!"

"Oh no!" protested Alice. Seeing him blink, she hurried on, "- That is – I'd love the moonlit stroll! But let's dine at Chez Jules. Charles told me they've the most marvellous chef who actually trained under Jules Gouffé in France. And the wine cellar is reputed to be as fine as any you would find in the city."

"Uh huh?" said Kid, wondering who the Sam Hill 'Charles' was. "How's the steak?"

A fresh peal of silvery laughter floated in the air as they walked through the lobby.

"Oh Thaddeus! You are funny!"

---oooOOOooo---

**A QUIET CORNER, OF A QUIET BAR, IN A NOISY CITY **

"Don't know 'bout you, Heyes, but I need to get the dust of the last week outta my throat," said Harry, pouring the erstwhile leader of the Devil's Hole gang, a shot of the finest straight Kentucky corn whiskey. "You see, I set out from San Francisco 'bout six or seven days ago. Went back to Hadleyburg. I've trailed through Arizona and Nevada since then." He scowled at his companion, as he took a swallow of his own drink. "Then I find you less'n five hours from where I started!" Fixing an accusatory gaze on Heyes, he added, "Coulda saved myself a whole heap of trouble, if I'd known you were so close Heyes!"

"It was inconsiderate, Harry," Heyes shook his head with mock apology. "How about Kid an' I mail you a regular update on our itinerary?" he sipped his own drink, "If we send it – care of the Bannerman Office, Denver – that suit you?"

Harry drew his brows together for a few seconds considering this.

"Think that'd be a mite risky, Heyes…" Catching Heyes' eye, the Bannerman realised he was being laughed at and subsided. He shifted in his seat. "How would you like to earn some big money, Heyes?"

"Kinda depends, Harry. How big - and doing what?"

"$2,500 maybe $5,000."

"Doing what?"

"Something you'll enjoy, Heyes. Be like – revisiting your days of glory."

"Doing what, Harry?"

"Cracking the Brooker 606 in the Merchants' National Bank!" Seeing Heyes' expression, Harry rushed on, "Or, if you prefer – the Pierce and Hamilton 1880, Guardian B. In the Wells Fargo Building." He leaned forward, eagerly, "You choose. Whichever you think you can manage Heyes. Course – if you crack the pair – we – I mean you - collect the full five thousand." A beat. "Which one you gonna pick first, Heyes?"

The dark eyes met his.

"I'm not gonna pick either one, Harry. Aren't you forgetting – I'm straight. I don't steal for myself any more. I'm not real likely to start stealin' to order."

"Heyes – you don't hafta steal so much as a cent! Just open 'em." He thought for a moment, "'Course you might wanna muss the contents. Show the owners you COULD rob 'em if you cared to." Still staring at the ex-outlaw, he brought his face closer. Heyes drew back a touch. "If you manage it without dynamite, I don't think it's even a crime. Not breaking and entering if'n ya don't break nothin' – is it? Suppose it might be trespass – but ain't that only a misdemeanour?"

Heyes blinked.

"Appreciate your faith in my knowledge of legal niceties, Harry. But –– the problems Kid and I had with the law tended to be kinda – clear cut." Seeing Harry about to launch into fresh speech, the ex-outlaw forestalled him. "What's the point of crackin' a safe and leavin' everything in place?"

"$2,500 apiece, Heyes. Ain't that a point? Not to mention the – well, the personal satisfaction." Harry gave a would-be persuasive smile, "You're not telling me, part of you isn't itchin' to take a shot at it!" He laid a hand on Heyes' shoulder, "Unless you think you haven't so much as a chance – lost your touch - an' you'd rather not try?"

He received a flash of anger from those dark eyes, before Heyes realised the ploy being used and the anger was replaced with a grin.

"Nice try, Harry! But still – no!" A remembrance of Harry's words back at the station, made him frown. "You said you weren't here on Bannerman business. You're doing a private favour – for a friend?" Harry nodded, "This – friend – is he paying you to find me?" Harry shifted in his seat. "HARRY!" protested Heyes.

"He's not after the bounty," exclaimed Harry, "I SWEAR! An' I never told him nothing. Not your alias. Not the amnesty deal. Nothing. Besides – he's not interested. Be small change to him. I just said – I might be able to make you listen to his proposition. I have his word – it's not a trap." He met Heyes' eyes, "I wouldn't lead you into a trap – you know that Heyes. Besides if it was a trap – why not ask for both of you?"

Heyes considered that last question. It was a valid point. But still.

Sighing with impatience, he said, "I don't believe you'd deliberately lead us into a trap Harry," for a moment there was a shadow of the dangerous outlaw in his eyes, "think you know better than that. But – I'm not so sure you'd SEE a trap." He glanced around at the few customers, clustered in small groups, at the distant bar. "What if you were followed?"

"Pfffttt!" scoffed Harry, "I'd like to see someone follow a Bannerman man without being spotted! We're trained by experts, ya know Heyes!"

"Uh huh," said Heyes, allowing the scepticism to show in his face.

"I'm sure, Heyes. I thought of that. Kept alert. No men followed me."

This was true enough. No MEN had trailed Harry Briscoe at any stage.

"Besides, if it were a trap – and they were followin' me – why not pick you up sooner? At the station. They know you ain't likely to start any shootin' – not with women and children around. Could have had you in jail by now."

Heyes mused. Another valid point.

"No reason for the Governor ever to know!" wheedled Harry. Heyes gave him a questioning look. "Think – if you crack the Merchant's National Bank – but take nothing – are they likely to shout it around they ain't – safe?" Harry gave a grin. Heyes winced at the pun. "No!" exclaimed a delighted Harry, "They won't want their customers knowin' their security's been blown. Won't want them switchin' banks." He could see Heyes considering this. "Same goes for the Wells Fargo safe," crowed Harry. "Long as nothing's taken – think they'll wanna make it public?"

Heyes pursed his lips and shrugged. He was not completely convinced – but perhaps Harry had made yet a third valid point.

"What do you think they would do?" asked Harry, smugly, "C'mon Heyes – you're smart?"

Heyes searched. Warily he offered, "Maybe – get a better safe?"

"Exactly!" gloated Harry. "That's what HE figured!"

"Who figured?"

"Theodore Pierce!" blurted Harry. He pressed shut his lips with a chagrined expression. It was clear his client was supposed to remain anonymous.

"Ever discrete, Harry," grinned Heyes. "Who the Sam Hill is …" he tailed off. Light dawned. "As in – Pierce an' Hamilton?" Still annoyed with himself, Harry nodded. "He wants to pay me – to crack his own safe?" went on Heyes, in disbelief.

"Well, no!" temporised Harry, "He wants to pay you to crack the Brooker 606. Ya see Heyes," he leaned forward, "- before you reformed, there was a nice – even – pattern. You'd crack a Brooker. Brooker customers would upgrade to the latest Pierce and Hamilton. You'd crack that – they'd switch back to an improved Brooker model. Nice steady business all round. Your goin' straight – has kinda had repercussions on the security equipment trade."

Heyes blinked at the reproachful look.

"Guess Kid an' I were just thoughtless, huh?"

"Can't be helped," forgave Harry, "Even you can't think of everythin' Heyes."

"If this – Theodore Pierce – is funding a, strictly not-for-profit, break in at the Merchant's National," asked Heyes, "- how come I get $2,500 for the Wells Fargo safe too?" Harry looked sheepish. He said nothing. "Harry," said Heyes, "- have you got TWO new friends?" The sheepishness increased. Harry looked positively – ovine. "Barnabas Benjamin Beauregard Brooker?" hazarded Heyes.

"Just - Henry!" bleated Harry, "- but I didn't tell you that one!"

"And does either of 'em know you've taken the other's money?" pressed Heyes. Harry hung his head. "That was a mistake, Harry," sniffed Heyes. "I mean – even if you'd talked me into this – which you haven't – that would have been a mistake. Always a mistake to be too greedy."

Harry looked up, the truth of this written on his face.

"I just couldn't believe it, Heyes!" he said. "Couldn't believe it when I got a wire from Pierce, offering expenses and a fee just to come hear about a private job. Then – before I set out – I got more or less the same message from some clerk working for Brooker." He took a rueful swallow of his drink and poured another, "You know I'm not a rich man, Heyes. Couldn't bear to turn either one down."

"Did you tell either of 'em you thought you'd found me?" snapped Heyes, his eyes searching Harry's.

Harry shook his head.

"Didn't even make contact on the return journey," he said, "I didn't want to count my chickens."

After another searching glance, Heyes gave a satisfied nod. He believed him.

"Keep it that way, Harry," he said, tersely, "- You're real sorry, but you've not managed to track me down. Understand?"

Harry looked into the dark eyes that could so quickly glitter with danger, he gulped and nodded.

"Think it over, Heyes," he urged, "- it's not – stealing. An' I saw your face when I mentioned the safes. You know you want to!"

Heyes shifted in his seat. There was more truth in there than he cared to admit.

"Tell you what Harry," he said. "It's still no!" Harry slumped, "But maybe there's some other way to make your - generous friends - happy. Here's what we'll do – to help me – think it over …"

---oooOOOooo---

**A CANDLELIT NOOK **

Glancing around, Kid Curry mentally doubled what dinner was going to cost. As the waiter swept a snowy white napkin across Alice's lap, with a Gallic shrug and a sigh of "Mam'zelle", which managed to be both reverent and continentally louche, Kid tripled his estimate. Still – he had no complaints about the décor, nor the ambiance. As for the company, Kid was not blind to the envious glances from every other man in the room as he escorted Alice to their table. Her hair gleamed in the candlelight, the flickering shadows played across her damask cheek, her eyes danced with animation as they caught the glow.

"I could eat a horse!" she exclaimed, as she swept her gaze around the room, lingering for a moment on a neighbouring diner's entrée.

"So could I!" agreed Kid. A sudden doubt assailed him, as he recalled one of the few facts he knew about French cuisine. He shook his head. It was just a figure of speech. A mental beat. He hoped it was just a figure of speech.

A second waiter, trained beyond the napkin flouncing stage, oozed up to the couple.

"Le menu, Mam'zelle, et – voila M'sieur,"

Kid looked at the fine calligraphy, he blinked.

"It's all in Fre…" He stopped. He met two enquiring faces, beginning to crease into sneers of Gallic distain. Kid was perfectly capable of dealing with ordinary, home grown sneering. But Parisians have distain down to such a fine art! Both men facing him had practised their whole lives. From the first time they turned up their noses, with a contemptuous sniff, when offered carelessly presented bread and milk as infants in arms.

Kid had no desire to spoil the mood. Besides, standing up and letting his hand hover dangerously over his gun might – just – be considered an overreaction to haughty service in a restaurant. He looked over at Alice. She was giving her own menu undivided attention. The pink tip of her tongue emerged to lick those – delicious looking – lips.

"Tell you what," smiled Kid, handing his own menu back. "I'll have whatever the lady chooses."

"D'accord, M'sieur."

The waiter turned with a bow to Alice. Taking a breath, Alice began. Kid was pleased to see the disdain wiped off the faces. In fact – watching the waiters' eyes open – Kid wondered what she was actually ordering. Senior waiter's hands clapped. Junior waiter scurried away. He returned with a white-hatted figure, swelling with indignation. A sentence or two of fluent French, another basilisk stare; all indignation left the commis chef du poisson. He wrung his hands, bowing and nodding obsequiously, before returning, a chastened man, to his kitchen.

Alice fluttered the most angelic of sweet smiles at Kid.

"I love lobster – don't you Thaddeus? But one has to be very firm. I insist on HEN-lobster, under 40 ounces in weight uncooked – to ensure I receive the sweetest flesh."

"Uh huh," Kid managed.

The senior of the two waiters gestured to a third, superior figure, who in turn floated gracefully up to the table. The sommelier, with a flourish, presented a leather bound tome.

"La carte du vins, M'sieur," he breathed. His two colleagues bowed their heads, reverently.

Kid looked at it. He made what he thought an error proof decision.

"Why don't we push the boat out?" he offered, "Have champagne."

"Oooh, yes!" trilled Alice, "Don't let me drink too much though, Thaddeus! The bubbles go straight to my head. I might need to hang on very tight during that moonlit stroll!"

Kid smiled at her, "Not a problem, Alice."

"Champagne du maison, M'sieur? Or – per'aps M'sieur prefers – ze Moët?"

"Oh, I'm sure M'sieur prefers neither!" pouted Alice, "I like Krug best – don't you agree, Thaddeus?"

"Er…" Kid met the sommelier's eye, "Do you have any…."

"Krug," supplied Alice.

"Krug?" finished Kid.

"Bien sur, M'sieur!" beamed the sommelier. The width of the beam caused Kid to revise upwards, yet again, the hole this evening would make in the remains of his share of Heyes' winnings at Colorado Springs.

Left alone, the couple smiled at each other. Kid reached across and gently took Alice's hand. She looked at him thoughtfully. She decided to make the best use she could of the evening.

"Thaddeus…" she began.

"Uh huh?"

"You must have known a lot of – girls?"

"Can't recall a single one of 'em – now I'm here with you."

"Suppose you were – in love – with a beautiful girl…"

"I can suppose that very easily, Alice!"

"And she – she loved you back."

Kid smiled, and very gently squeezed the small hand held in his.

"But – you were worried you weren't good enough for her. No – that's the wrong word. You were worried because her family was rich – and you knew they'd want her to marry somebody who was also rich. Someone – with background – connections. You know?"

Kid looked at her tenderly. He thought he knew where this was going.

Their wine arrived. The label was shown to Kid. It certainly said – 'Krug'. He nodded. The cork whispered from the bottle. An inch of golden liquid was poured into Kid's glass. The wine waiter stepped back and folded his hands respectfully. He waited. Kid tasted the wine. Sunlight and joy danced across his taste buds. Light skipped over his grateful tongue. Alice had taste! Expensive taste maybe – but taste! He drained his glass.

"M'sieur ees 'appy?"

"Yup!" confirmed Kid. "M'sieur is!"

As both flutes were filled, the first course was delivered. For a minute their table was a flurry of activity and silverware.

Once they were left in quiet, Alice, making lavish use of the hollandaise ladle, asked, "What was I saying, Thaddeus?"

"You were talking about problems that might come up if you -" Kid gave a modest smile, "developed - feelings - for a man your family didn't approve of."

"So I was!" She puckered her brow, "No cutlery with asparagus, Thaddeus. Just fingers."

Kid blinked. Most girls for whom he bought dinner did not issue ad-hoc etiquette lessons during the meal. However, he put down his knife and fork. He watched Alice pick up the first of her own spears, lift her chin and taking the tip and part of the stalk into her mouth, close her eyes in pleasure as she savoured it.

"Mmmm," she purred, "This IS good, Thaddeus!" She licked the buttery sauce from her fingers, with quick little, feline darts of her tongue, before selecting a second plump, moist spear.

Kid forgot any momentary annoyance. He shifted in his seat and crossed his legs.

"Would you like mine, too?" he offered, hopefully, his voice gruff.

Taking a sucked clean thumb from between her lips, Alice widened her eyes.

"That's very kind! But I couldn't just let you watch, while I eat both portions!"

"My pleasure," insisted Kid. Under his breath, he added, "- Trust me!"

He became aware that he was not alone in watching Alice. He directed a cold blue stare first at a pair of gawping, dandified customers at a nearby table; then at napkin waiter, who was wearing an expression full of all the dumb yearning possible in a grown man of twenty-two.

"What's wrong, Thaddeus?" asked Alice, pouring sauce on Kid's pushed over plate.

Having ensured all other male eyes were peeled off, Kid returned his own gaze to his dinner companion.

"Nothing," he smiled. "Do go on."

"You see, I'm Daddy's only child. He wants me to make a good match," another buttery tip was captured by the pink tongue. "He worries men might - you know - be interested in my expectations, because he will settle a lot of money on me when I marry. And when he dies, I'll inherit most of the rest." She sucked her fingers clean again, with a long drawn out 'Mmm' of pure pleasure. "Not that I want Daddy to die! I'm very, very fond of him, Thaddeus. But he does SO like having his own way!"

Kid smiled. The source of one inherited trait was cleared up.

"There is ONE man Daddy WOULD like me to marry - Charles…" she caught herself up, "… I won't tell you his surname, because it's not ladylike to talk about men you've refused. He is QUITE nice actually."

"Uh huh?" Kid leaned back to allow a fresh flurry of plate clearing.

"Not that Daddy is trying to force me into marriage with anyone in particular. He'd be quite happy if I waited until I was older. AND there are - oh, five or six - out of the other gentlemen who have proposed, that Daddy would be more than pleased to welcome into the family."

Kid blinked.

"Most men are so silly!" pronounced Alice, pityingly. "They think just because you smile at them, dance with them and let them pay a few compliments, you're smitten! I don't want a man who only knows how to talk. He has to be practical, self sufficient…"

The trace of a satisfied smile played across Kid's face.

"I can't see it matters if he's from, well - from an ordinary background," declared Alice.

Kid shook his head in agreement, struggling to crack a lobster claw. Alice whipped the implement from his hand and gave a deft flick of her dainty wrist. The shell yielded at once in the presence of authority. Kid's hand received a friendly pat, as the silverware was handed back.

"Do you think -" asked Alice, confidingly, "- If I was rescued from dire peril, Daddy would be softened toward the man who saved me?"

"Could be," smiled Kid. He looked with pleasure at Alice's glowing eyes. How grateful she was for his service that afternoon. He hoped she would not be too disappointed when he had to say goodbye.

"OR -" went on Alice, musingly, "- Suppose Daddy thought I'd fallen for someone REALLY unsuitable. I mean - ridiculously unsuitable. Like an outl…" she stopped herself, "Like an out…rageously obvious debauchee?"

Kid blinked again. The scenario was taking a path he had not expected.

"THEN," continued Alice, "- Do you think Daddy would be so relieved when I gave HIM up - he'd jump at the chance of an honest, decent, clever, hard-working son-in-law?"

Kid gave a wry smile at adjective 'hard-working', he was not sure he deserved that one. As for 'honest' - well, he had been straight for just over a year - so, perhaps. He gave a 'maybe' shrug in answer to Alice's questioning look.

"Of course," admitted Alice, "Daddy's not the only problem." She poked one of her own recalcitrant claws into submission with a sharp spike. "You see, if a man I cared for - you know - ruined me," she gave Kid a meaning look, he cast an anxious glance round, to check no-one was listening, "- then Daddy would HAVE to let us be married. BUT…" she sighed, "…if he were too chivalrous and honourable, well - that'd never happen!"

Kid captured her hand and squeezed it very gently. Looking into her eyes, he said, with some regret, "I think it's probably for the best, Alice."

She sighed, "Maybe." Her eyes widened in surprise, as Kid tenderly kissed her fingers, before releasing them. Taking her hand back to the important task of disposing of every last morsel of lobster, before the boeuf en croute arrived, Alice gave him a rather perfunctory smile.

"Suppose, Thaddeus, another man was holding your beloved captive. A man with a bad reputation - who might subject her to - to a fate worse than death. Would you rescue her? Scorning danger and the opinion of the world? Setting aside - everything else - as you thought of her fragile loveliness in peril?"

"I'd try and rescue - any woman in danger," said Kid, a little confused again by the direction of the hypothetical questions.

"And when you did - might you be - overcome with passion? Might you sweep her up in your arms, consume her with flaming kisses, press her against you - squeeze the breath from her heaving bosom? Might you determine to - to abandon all delay and hasten to make her yours forever, to protect her from the lures and entrapments of other men?"

Kid closed his mouth, which had begun to gape.

"Erm…" he floundered, "… I never really thought about it," he managed, thinking about it now.

The entrée arrived. Watching a trickle of blood as it was carved, Alice's eyes glittered.

"Yum," she said, with relish, draining her glass, "- nice and pink. Just like I ordered."

A patisserie trolley rolled past. Her eyes followed it. "Oooh … look at that mille-feuille … and those profiteroles … they look irresistible! But I WAS going to try one of the iced soufflés!" She grinned, mischievously at him, "The agony of choice, Thaddeus!"

"Why not some of each?" he asked, teasingly.

"Thaddeus - thank you!" she beamed, "Lovely - I shall barely have room for the petit fours!"

Kid was torn between admiration and bewilderment. As his eyes, once again, took in her elfin slenderness, he could not help but wonder - where was she putting it all?

"Oh, Thaddeus."

He pulled his gaze back up to her face, which was wearing that familiar, enchanting look of appeal.

"Uh huh?"

She fluttered, "Don't you need to order another bottle?"

---oooOOOooo---

**BACK ON NOB HILL**

In his study, Theodore Pierce mulled over the final plans for his stand at the Exhibition of Innovation. Poor sales figures danced though his mind. He sighed. His complaint to his wife that 'he would be ruined', had been a gross exaggeration. But still, there were two elements in his life that drove his living expenses well above the ordinary. He could not envisage his lovely helpmeet agreeing to forego a single one of the spacious rooms she had planned for their second home out at the Heights. Nor did he, for one second, imagine that when she spoke of 'simple rustic charm' for the furnishings, 'simple' meant cheap.

His head jerked up. Was that a stealthy footstep behind him? Soft hands reached round and covered his eyes.

"Guess who?" purred a familiar contralto voice.

He caught the hands in his.

"Grace!" he exclaimed, "I didn't expect you and Alice back yet!"

"We ran into the Merediths. They are having a house party down at their place on the coast. I thought you wouldn't mind if Alice joined it. She's staying with them for a few days." She smiled, "You don't mind?"

Her husband looked surprised.

"I thought Alice called Mrs. Meredith strict, stuffy and her house-parties the dullest weekends she's ever spent?"

"Ah - but THIS weekend, they are having a masked ball! You know how much she loves dressing up! AND they mean to have dancing on the lawns - to take advantage of the full moon. Alice is planning a costume as Artemis the moon Goddess."

"How much is that going to cost me?" he asked.

"Not as much as you might think, darling. She is so happy with her Grecian knot hairstyle and how wonderful she looks in a simple white column, that she easily agreed the accoutrements would be fine in just papier mache with silver paint."

"So - why are you here?" he asked.

"Darling!" she pouted, "- That's not much of a welcome home!" She slid onto his lap, "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

He gulped, reddening, as her finger slid down his spine.

"You know I am. BUT," he said, reasonably, "You love new dresses, dancing and … well … being the belle of the ball, quite as much as Alice. Why not go to the Merediths' too?"

"Perhaps I couldn't stay away," she murmured, close to his ear. Her mouth did not move away. Feeling a gentle nip to his earlobe, Theo Pierce blinked. He checked the calendar - no, not his birthday. "I brought you a present," she continued, dove soft, pressing a tissue wrapped parcel into his hand.

"YOU bought ME a present?" he exclaimed. He pulled open the tissue. A nightgown made of layers of gauzy chiffon in every shade of sea green from palest aqua to deepest turquoise tumbled over his knees.

"I'm going to look pretty silly in this," he smiled.

Grace smiled back.

"Do you think - maybe - it would suit me, instead?" she asked, raising one finely arched brow.

Her husband glanced down at the flimsy garment. Even under its multiple gossamer layers, he could see the back of his hand like - well, like the back of his hand. He looked up at his beautiful young wife. He nodded, hopefully.

"I thought it might be the perfect thing to wear, when we sit on the balcony of our room, out at the Heights - watching the waves," she smiled. "Once it's built," she added.

Theodore Pierce's face fell.

"Are you planning on saving - it - until then?"

"Wee..eell," she said, lashes lowering, as she stroked a length of filmy insubstantiality across his hand, "Since it was a present for you - I thought you might like me to try it on tonight?" There was another gulp, followed by another eager nod.

"Give me fifteen minutes," she smiled, standing up. At the door of the study, she turned. "Oh, Theo, darling," she said, making a pretty moue.

"Yes?"

"You won't mind if tomorrow, I disappear for a while - to choose some furniture - for the new house."

A hasty shake of the head.

"And, I simply must find time for fittings with my dressmaker - my summer wardrobe needs updating - you understand?"

"Anything!" he said.

She smiled and swept out of the room.

---oooOOOooo---

**THE HOTEL DEL MONTE - Sometime before 11pm**

"Oh Thaddeus," beamed Alice, at the door of her suite, "I had a wonderful evening, thank you!" She switched off the beam for a moment, "Except for the desk clerk saying they do not serve mixed berries with honey for breakfast. How DARE he argue with me?"

"He didn't argue long!" ventured Kid, who had felt for the youth.

"I wouldn't have said a WORD, if he had offered a reasonable alternative immediately!"

"Woulda been the first time all evenin'," said Kid, under his breath.

"What was that, Thaddeus?"

"Nothing," he answered, quickly.

He had thought Hannibal Heyes could talk. Now he was beginning to think, wistfully, of his partner as a relatively taciturn companion - with pauses. He was also now considering that if the governor never came through with amnesty; rather than learn Spanish and go south, he would learn French and open a fancy restaurant. It clearly combined the rewards of daylight robbery with the advantage of being - technically - honest. With a smile, Kid pushed away that thought. He had enjoyed every mouthful - so perhaps it was a shade - grudging - to dwell on the shock he had received unfolding the bill.

His eyes dwelt on Alice. Talkative certainly, but breathtakingly lovely; and she had - vitality. A girl who displayed a healthy enjoyment of food and wine; but could still bounce energetically, rather than stroll sedately across the beach. She had turned away, with a display of modest confusion, when he had lowered his face towards hers in the moonlight and Kid - not a man to press an unwelcome attention - had drawn back at once. But now, standing in her doorway, she beamed up at him, those enchantingly moulded lips a little parted - invitingly.

Gently pushing back a strand of that glorious golden hair, Kid leaned forward.

"Goodnight Thaddeus," came Alice's light-hearted voice.

Kid had cause to be thankful for his well-honed quick draw reflexes as he whipped his fingers away from the slamming door. He stared at the painted wood, two inches from his nose. Without in any way thinking she owed him a goodnight kiss - that had been a touch - abrupt!

Turning, he took a few steps towards the stairs to his own room. A sound behind him caused him to wheel around. Alice stood, once again in the doorway, a vision in her simple white dress.

"Oh Thaddeus," she trilled.

Kid, smiling to himself, made his way back.

"Yes, Alice?"

"I forgot - I have no maid here. Could you possibly undo the hooks at the top of my dress. Just the first two - the rest are easy." She presented her back.

"I think I can manage that," smiled Kid, amused by the ruse. He allowed his hand to gently linger on the nape of that lily-white neck. "I'm glad you called me back, Alice."

She turned around.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't get a chance to say - goodnight - properly before."

She smiled with unalloyed, friendliness, as he moved his face towards hers.

"Oh? Well - now you have. So that's alright."

This time the door did actually catch him, as it swung back into its frame. Rubbing tomorrow's bruise and hearing the lock turn, Kid gave a resigned shrug. At least he knew for sure she was not trying to seduce him, then take advantage of - a vulnerable moment - to hand him over to the law. Every cloud has a silver lining.

---oooOOOooo---

**MEANWHILE – BACK IN THE PIERCE RESIDENCE **

Theodore Pierce watched five of his fifteen-minute wait tick by on the study clock, as he tidied away his plans, locking the polished walnut desk. About to head for bathroom, toothbrush and eau de cologne, he heard the sound of voices at the front door. The voices ceded to the measured tread of his butler. Before he had time to finish the thought, 'Who the Sam Hill can that be, at this hour?' Barrymore, appeared in the doorway.

"Mr…" the suggestion of a sneer in the voice, "…Briscoe, has called, Sir. With another…" the most delicate of insinuating pauses, "…gentleman. Are you at home?"

The manufacturer wavered, shooting a longing glance at the banister's curving sweep upstairs. But – he was eager for any news. He nodded.

"Show them in." Pierce wondered, as footsteps approached. 'Another gentleman' - it could not be? Surely not? HE would not come – here?

HE had not.

"This is a colleague of mine – Carl Grant," declared Harry, his voice a shade overloud with would-be confidence, for the elegant surroundings. Wiping it first on his hip, Harry held out his hand a little too eagerly, smiling a little too obsequiously at his rich client. Theodore Pierce barely touched the proffered – still moist - palm, his eyes not leaving the dark-eyed stranger, standing by the study door, brown derby in hand.

Harry pressed on.

"Mr. Grant is also – interested – in taking private commissions when not fully engaged on Bannerman business."

Pierce continued to look at the newcomer.

"Uh huh?" Not exactly hostile, but without enthusiasm.

"You see – Grant has spent most of his career at the Fort Worth office. He specialises in – security. He knows more about safety measures at the Bank of Fort Worth than any man living! He influenced the owners to put most of 'em in place," enthused Harry. The slim young man by the door lowered his eyes, giving a modest, self-deprecating smile and shrug. "He could draw you a floor plan of that Bank, so exact – you'd find a dropped pin in the dark, wearing baseball gloves," went on Harry.

"Uh huh?"

"Probably do it blindfold!" His companion shot Harry a look. No need to overdo it – even if it did happen to be true. Harry subsided.

"Uh huh?" said Theodore Pierce for the third time. A beat. He cleared his throat. "Well – that's very interesting Mr. – er…?"

"Grant," supplied Harry.

"Mr. Grant. Although I'm always delighted to help the Fort Worth Bank with any – equipment requirements – it is not really – relevant – to my business with Mr. Briscoe." He turned his eyes back to Harry. "Have you managed to - recover the missing item?" he asked.

"Not yet, no," said Harry, keeping his gaze firmly on his client and resisting the urge to glance at the man behind him. "Still looking of course – following leads."

"In that case, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me? It's late – I must be getting…"

Harry did now take a quick look at his companion. Seeing a compelling 'go on' message, he interrupted Pierce.

"You don't understand," he blurted. "Mr. Grant's knowledge could be just what you need. Amongst we Bannerman men – it's generally understood Hannibal Heyes has a special fascination with the Bank at Fort Worth. Always kinda saw it as a special challenge. Grant here – he's studied every safe job the Devil's Hole Gang pulled. In particular, he's studied Heyes' methods – tryin' to ensure the security at Fort Worth stayed one step ahead." Harry drew breath, before continuing with his brief, "Grant's been workin' on second guessin' what Heyes might pull for the last five or six years."

Theodore Pierce frowned. "You mean," he hazarded, again looking at the dark-eyed, modestly reticent young man, "- he thinks like Hannibal Heyes?"

The man introduced as Carl Grant cleared his throat.

"Let's say, I know better than most – how that larcenous rogue's mind works."

"So… you might be able to find him?" hesitated Pierce, sitting down and gesturing for the others to do the same.

"No," was the simple reply. "If I could do that – I'd quit the agency and turn bounty hunter." The safe manufacturer looked confused. "You see, Mr. Pierce, I've spent a lot of my time checking out the security of – safes, for the banks. Especially – the bank of Fort Worth. An' as you know – it's had a few over the years. Sometimes one of yours. Sometimes a Brooker." A beat. Still lingering confusion. "You only want Hannibal Heyes as a means to an end, am I right? If someone else cracked – just hypothetically – the Brooker 606 in the Merchants' National Bank, would you care?"

"No. Except – I might buy him a drink." The dark young man grinned, flashing bright teeth and dimpling in amusement. "I'm sure it'd be the best whiskey in the house, Mr. Pierce. But a drink is not exactly what's in my mind. Would you still be offerin' the $2,500 you were offerin' to Hannibal Heyes?"

"$5,000," corrected Pierce. Two deep brown eyes flashed a reproach at a reddening Harry Briscoe. Theodore Pierce went on, "Are you sayin' – you can crack the Brooker 606?"

"No," came the answer, "I'm sayin' – I'll start thinkin' hard how it might be done. Heyes isn't the only safecracker around. There are places in this city where you might find a man – with skills."

"Not like Heyes!" protested Pierce, "- He was the best."

"Pfffttt! Most times – he was lucky. You don't wanna believe all you read," said the young man, "Not saying he wasn't good – but, if I manage to come up with a method…" He let the idea linger. "Do you agree – the fee is for the task – not the man?" he checked.

Pierce nodded.

Heyes cleared his throat.

"This - Brooker 606," he asked, with a mildly interested lift of the eyebrow, "I don't suppose it has anything** in common** - with your own 1880 Guardian B model launched around the same time?"

Pierce began to fume.

"That skunk Brooker... always stealing all our best ideas ... man's nothing but a common thief!"

Heyes let the grumble die away to a low murmur. No need to labour the point. After a moment or two, a bright idea struck Theodore Pierce. "First thing tomorrow morning, come to the works," he offered, "I'll have our engineers take you through the shared features."

Heyes gave an acquiescent smile.

"Whatever you suggest, Mr Pierce."

"As a plan B -" the safe manufacturer turned to Harry Briscoe, "- Are you continuing to track Heyes?"

"Sure," exclaimed Harry, "- And you know what, Mr. Pierce? I think I'm real close!"

Suddenly, light foot-steps sounded on the stairs.

"Darling!" exclaimed Theodore Pierce, rising to his feet, as the door opened.

Heyes thought the man was unlikely to appreciate the hungry-eyed, open-mouthed gawping from Harry, who was also facing the door, at what was obviously, from the greeting, Mrs. Pierce. He rose, politely, from his own chair and turned. Heyes' mouth dropped open. He gawped. Oblivious to the glare directed at him by Theodore Pierce he stared, incredulous, at the vision in the doorway. She was wrapped in a dressing gown of vivid Chinese silk. Embroidered velvet slippers and just a whisper of sea-green chiffon peeped out at the ankle. Her glorious titian hair was loosed down her back. She was undeniably very lovely. This explained why Harry was doing an impression of a cod-fish. Heyes was gawping for the simple reason he recognised her – and worse – she recognised him. They knew each other. Knew each other – intimately!

Grace experienced her own moment of open-mouthed shock. Never for one moment had she expected Heyes to walk calmly into her home. Nor to see him face to face in the presence of her besotted meal ticket for life. Drawing on all her years of living by her wits, she recovered her poise and stepped forward.

"I'm so sorry, Darling," she said, "I had no idea you were engaged with visitors."

"This is Mr. Briscoe," introduced Pierce, "- And Mr. Grant," still wearing a glower, "Gentlemen – my WIFE!" The emphasis on the last word got through, even to Harry. He shut his mouth and did his best to wipe off the yearning expression. Heyes had already returned to a blandly smiling poker-face.

"Mr. Briscoe; Mr. – Grant," repeated Grace, in response to two polite nods.

"You remember, darling," went on Pierce, "I spoke about having a – a business commission for Mr. Briscoe?" She nodded. "Mr. Grant is going to assist Mr. Briscoe," explained her husband, "He is an expert. Probably knows nearly as much about safes as –" he searched, "- as I do!"

"Surely not, Darling!" protested Grace, with a quick glance at Heyes.

Grace kept her face serene, but Heyes saw a shadow flicker in those bright eyes. Worries about possible revelations flitted behind that lovely face. Practically everything in what Alice referred to in capital letters as her – PAST – was secret from her husband. In particular the men. He confidently believed there were none, save for the respectable, deceased – (in truth, never living) – Mr. Turner.

"Famous for it!" put in Harry. Seeing one finely arched eyebrow raised, he temporised, "Well – famous amongst us at the Agency."

"Well," smiled Grace, "I hope, Darling, if he's going to work on your – wonderful safes, I hope Mr. …"

"Grant," supplied Harry.

"I hope Mr. Grant knows how to be – discrete," she cast Heyes a look, with just a hint of entreaty.

"I'm always discrete, ma-am," smiled Heyes, with a bow. "I consider it – one of the most important qualities in a gentleman."

"In a lady, too," answered Grace, with the smallest of return bows. She did not really fear Heyes would use a 'kiss and tell' threat unless pushed. But his answer was still most welcome. She looked from one man to the next, expectantly.

Heyes cleared his throat. To Theodore Pierce he said, "I was just about to say, Mr. Pierce. To carry out the task we discussed, Mr. Briscoe and I may have to make contact with the Brooker company. If we visit Mr. Brooker, you'll know why. We'll come up with some plausible ruse."

Pierce shrugged. It sounded reasonable. Presumably, Grant meant to get a close look at a Brooker 606.

A mischievous look came over Grace's face.

"Oh! But…" she covered her mouth with her hand, prettily.

"Go on, Darling," encouraged her husband.

She fluttered her lashes at him and glanced at Heyes.

"If Mr. Grant is so well known as an expert in safes - especially at Fort Worth – where Brooker has done a lot of business recently – don't you think…?"

"Don't we think – what – ma-am?" said Heyes, giving her a warning look.

"Don't you think – someone at the Brooker office might – recognise his name?" she finished, eyes appealingly feminine, as she gazed up at Pierce.

"Er… maybe," hesitated Pierce.

"I think Mr. Grant should use an alias!" decided Grace, with a wide smile.

"Er… ma-am," began Heyes.

"I insist, Darling!" she beamed. "I always want to help the business. You know that. This would make me…" she laid a hand softly on her husband's shirtfront, "… happy. I couldn't relax if Mr. Grant used his real name. It would bring on my headaches." She pouted, "You don't want that – do you, Darling?"

"Grant," said Theodore Pierce, decisively, "You're using an alias!"

"Uh huh?" said Heyes.

"Something very simple for the surname, I think," mused Grace, "- And something from the bible for the Christian name, to inspire – trust!" Finger to her lips she pondered, "Maybe…."

"Josh…" began Heyes, grateful to Grace for simplifying Harry's memory task.

"Thaddeus Jones!" she exclaimed, triumphantly. "What do you think, Darling?"

Theodore Pierce, determined NOTHING was giving Grace a headache tonight, spoke firmly to his dark-eyed young guest.

"From now on – you answer to Thaddeus Jones!"

"Huh??" bleated Harry, astonished at the co-incidence.

"Uh huh," sighed Heyes, astonished he had not seen it coming.

"Well," beamed Grace, "- I'll leave you men to your business." At the door, she flashed a last look over her shoulder, "Don't be too long, Darling."

There was a short pause.

Harry looked pole-axed. Heyes was almost sure he could hear the wheels turning as the Bannerman tried to figure out how Mrs. Pierce had plucked the name 'Thaddeus Jones' from thin air.

The ex-outlaw cleared his throat.

"I think we were about done, Mr. Pierce. Mr. Briscoe an' I will leave you to enjoy what's left of your evenin'. We'll report back if and when there are any – developments." To Harry, he said, "Let's go back to the hotel."

Heyes had no intention of putting the future hospitality of Soapy Saunders at risk, by introducing a Bannerman into his household.

Pierce nodded.

"Tomorrow – change hotels. This time, make sure YOU do it under the right name – Mr. Jones. Can't do any harm – and it's a small thing to ask if it makes a lady happy."

Harry walked out into the hallway. He felt he could not get into the cool of the night air quickly enough. Heyes followed, to be called back by the safe manufacturer.

"Er…Gran… I mean Mr. Jones,"

"Uh huh?"

"Something you said earlier – is worrying me."

"Uh huh?"

"You said – if YOU could find Hannibal Heyes, you'd turn bounty hunter."

Heyes looked at him, meditatively and waited for more.

A faint flush showed on Theodore Pierce's fleshy cheek.

"I gave my word – to Briscoe here. It's what made him even listen to me. I told him he could assure Heyes, if he tracked him down – this isn't a trap. There's no question of me double crossing him. If he gets caught in the attempt – that's a risk he's used to running. His choice. But I'm not interested in the bounty. Hope that goes for you too?"

A long beat. Heyes flashed a glance at Harry. He decided he would not be too hard – after all – on the man for trying to swindle him out of half the fee.

He looked back at Pierce and gave a light laugh.

"I can appreciate if a man gives his word to an honest citizen – he should keep it. But giving your word to an outlaw – does that really mean a darn thing?"

The flush deepened a shade. Theodore Pierce looked as if he were ashamed of being thought – sentimental.

"I realise the commission I've given you gentleman is not – exactly - above board. But that's business. If it goes right – no one gets hurt. And it's nothing that skunk Brooker wouldn't do himself, if he had the brains to think of it."

Harry shifted his eyes to his boots and shuffled his feet at this.

Pierce went on, seriously, "But a man's word – that's different. Whoever it is given to – it has to count for something. Or else – he's not a man at all. If Briscoe comes through and succeeds in tracking Heyes - this is not a trap. Do you understand me – Mr. …Jones?"

Heyes looked down for a moment, before meeting the man's eyes, a warmth in his own gaze that had not been there before.

"Yes, Mr. Pierce. I think I do."

---oooOOOooo---

Watching the two men depart, Theodore Pierce jotted a quick memorandum to himself, before heading upstairs.

"Pinker to make – discrete – check. Does Bannerman agency have a Carl Grant on staff - Fort Worth office?"

---oooOOOooo---

Heyes stepped out on to the street and glanced back at the imposing mansion behind him. Grace had not done too badly for herself. And he did not just mean – materially.

"Heyes," breathed Harry, "How the Sam Hill did she come up with that name? That was – uncanny." No answer. "Heyes, tell me it was a co-incidence. Please." No answer. Harry scampered beside the striding Heyes. He stared at the ex-outlaw's face as well as he could, moving at speed, below the yellow light of the street lamps. "Heyes – do you know her?" An annoyed glance was cast. A certain – dangerous edge – to the annoyance caused a sudden additional suspicion to sweep over Harry. He caught Heyes by the shoulder and pulled him round. "Heyes," he gasped, wide-eyed, "- You're not telling me you actually, y'know – KNEW her? I mean knew HER?"

Heyes kept his poker face as he first stared at the mixture of disbelief and sheer, unadulterated envy written all over the Bannerman's face; then dropped his eyes wordlessly to the grip on his shoulder. Harry took the hint and snatched his hand away as though scorched.

Heyes met his eyes.

"I'll tell you one thing Harry…"

"Yeah?" urged Harry, clearly hoping for something – juicy.

"If you don't drop this subject now – an' never bring it up again – you and I will be taking a walk to the docks – and you – will be taking a refreshing dip in the water. To quote the man we've just left – do you understand me?"

Harry gulped and nodded.

"Sure Heyes."

"An' – for Pete's sake – will you try an' get my name right?"

"Sure, Joshua. I mean – Grant. I mean…"

"Tell you what Harry. Would it make it easier, if – for the duration – you referred to me as, 'that other fella'?"

---oooOOOooo---


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**THE HOTEL DEL MONTE – Breakfast time Thursday**

Kid tapped lightly on Alice's door.

"Alice – are you ready to go down?" No answer. He tapped louder, "Alice, it's Thaddeus." Still nothing.

The youth who had had the temerity to point out the absence of berries from the morning menu, appeared in the corridor, carrying a heavy tray for some guest breakfasting in bed.

"If you're looking for Miss Psmith," he offered, "She went downstairs some time ago, Sir."

"You sure?" frowned Kid, "Didn't expect her to be such an early riser."

"Perfectly sure, Sir. Madam was kind enough to offer me some advice to pass on to the gardening staff on the correct tending of succulents. Apparently, the facilities of our cacti garden – though often admired – are not up to Madam's standards. I believe, from something the breakfast waiter told me, Madam has also been offering her valuable guidance on the desirability of having not just honey – but lavender honey – for our guests." A beat. "Am I right in thinking Miss Psmith checks out this morning?"

"Yup."

The youth's face brightened, as he continued down the corridor. The tray no longer seemed quite so heavy.

As he turned the bend of the stairs – Kid saw the ethereally beautiful, golden one. He could not hear what she was discussing with the English-accented desk clerk, but from the comfortable way she leant on the polished wood and from the comatose expression of the man, Kid suspected she had been in full flow for some time. The clerk's face lit up as he saw Kid coming down the stairs to relieve him.

"Good morning, Thaddeus," trilled Alice, looking fresh as a daisy in her obediently washed and ironed white muslin. "Please may I have some money?"

Kid blinked at her.

"Did you know this hotel has a heated pool? I thought we could go for a swim. But I need to run and buy a costume," she went on, frowning slightly as his hands stayed loosely by his side rather than complying with her polite request for funds. A thought struck her. "Oh," she smiled, "How thoughtless of me. Of course I'll buy a costume for you too, Thaddeus." A beat. With an edge to her voice, she said, "Hurry up, Thaddeus! We don't have all morning."

"We certainly don't," he agreed. "Have you forgotten we're catching a train at 9.30? The only thing I plan on doing 'tween now and then, is eat breakfast."

Kid strode off in the direction of the dining room.

"But I've had MY breakfast!" she pouted, after him.

For a moment, Alice fumed at the retreating figure. Had HE really just had the temerity to turn his back on HER? Then she remembered she was supposed to be fluttering 'grateful admiration' at him all the way back to San Francisco, up the steps and through the door. She glanced at the clock; around five hours to go. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders. Much as it pained her – she supposed she would have to go through the motions of forgiving his self-absorbed, thoughtless behaviour.

Alice used the clerk behind the desk as sounding board.

"Do you think I should go after him?"

"Certainly, madam," he responded. As he watched the slender, elfin form – lovely enough to delight the most jaded of eyes – bounce away, he added, under his breath, "Please…GO!"

---oooOOOooo---

Thirty minutes later, twenty-nine enlivened by sparkling feminine conversation – if grunted interjections of 'Uh huh' were enough to make conversation, rather than monologue, the correct term – Kid rose from the breakfast table. As well as some flattering remarks, about how lucky she had been to be rescued from her ordeal of yesterday, by such a – flutter – chivalrous man; he had also listened to anecdotes from Alice's youth and a variety of kind advice over the best style in which to ask for one's eggs (his favourite was wrong), how to hold a knife (his way was wrong), how to eat bread (wrong again – 'tear it, don't cut it!'), whether tea or coffee was the better drink for mornings (wrong) and the correct intervals at which to water cacti. As he had no cacti, Kid supposed she had simply failed to get everything she had to say on that subject off her chest to the hotel staff. Listening to the musical, silvery, lilting tones of this supremely opinionated woman, he did wonder whether he should take her out to a quiet stretch of the beach and see if she could show him where he had been going wrong on the fast-draw all these years. Let her shave off that tricky last fraction of a second.

She was still exceptionally easy on the eye, but Kid liked a little peace and quiet over breakfast. Or maybe, he thought fairly, it was the absence of romantic candlelight and flowing champagne, which made her seem – a natural gentleman, he hesitated over the word – annoying!

Alice was still trilling, cheerfully, as Kid walked up to his room, collected his bags, went back down and eyed the desk clerk.

"Your bills, Sir," the man responded, to Kid's unspoken request. Two folded slips were pushed toward him. Kid opened the first – his own. Pretty reasonable, given the fancy surroundings. He opened Alice's bill. A stillness came over him. He met the desk clerk's eyes. The man picked up on the air of danger, his gaze flicked quickly to the tied down gun. Clearing his throat, he said, "Sir will recall, Madam asked for a balcony suite with sea view, for several items to be purchased, for an overnight laundry service and her breakfast necessitated a member of staff to make an unscheduled visit to the fruitier."

Kid paid.

"Receipt, please," he snapped. He comforted himself with the thought that – however bumptious – Alice WAS a damsel in distress. AND, judging by his observations, she was the spoilt child of someone genuinely rich – so he should get his money back.

Alice was also beginning to feel chagrined. Very few men had been privileged enough to receive so much of her undivided attention.

"You'd think," she silently huffed, to herself, "he'd look a bit more – well – as if he realises how lucky he is!" She gave herself a little shake, maybe he was just worried whether he would ever see her again after today. Alice treated Kid to her kindest smile, as he counted out his money. Poor fellow – hiding his aching heart under that boyish scowl!

---oooOOOooo---

"Thaddeus, please may I have some money?" cooed Alice, pausing at a shop window.

"Nope."

"You don't even know what I want to buy!"

"Unless it's a coupla train tickets, I don't care. I can't afford it. I'm about cleaned out." Kid continued to stride in the direction of the railway station. A scampering, small, white figure caught up to him.

At the station, Alice tugged at his sleeve.

"Thaddeus," an entreating glance, from an apologetic face, "- I know you've been more than generous already, but –" hands behind back, one high arched foot tracing a small semi-circle in the dust, eyes peeping up from a head hanging in shame, "- would you mind VERY much, if I sent another telegram."

Kid's heart smote him. What a grouch he must be! The girl looked almost scared to ask. What kind of man was he – put out of humour by a little friendly chatter over breakfast and a couple of bills for things he had offered to buy of his own free will?

"Of course, Alice," he said, very gently. "You go wire your father you'll be home, safe and sound, by lunch time. Put his mind at rest." He raised the drooping chin with one finger, "And Alice – I'm sorry I snapped. My partner says I'm always proddy in the mornings. Forgive me?"

"You'll still stay with me all the way home?" The same, plaintive, little voice.

"Just like I promised," he smiled, handing over his last twenty. "Tell you what – you buy our tickets too." He nodded at the rest room, "I'll just be a moment."

A few minutes later, Kid was seated on a bench on the platform, legs stretched before him, enjoying the morning sun and waiting for Alice. A few more minutes passed. And a few more. She was taking her time. Mind – considered Kid – she was probably chatting.

A slender white figure emerging from the office, caught his eye. A beaming Alice skipped up. Kid sat up straight and smiled back. He held out his hand. Opening a paper bag and dipping in for a piece of candy, Alice stared at it.

"What do you want, Thaddeus?"

"Tickets. And the change," he prompted. Remembering his resolve not to be proddy, he added, "- Please."

Eyes opening a little, in affront, Alice said, "There's your change." Kid stared in disbelief at the single dollar, with a few dimes and nickels placed on his palm. "I didn't have enough for the tickets. You'll have to run and get them now."

"I gave you twenty!"

"I sent a telegram."

"What the Sam Hill was in it – the Gettysburg Address?"

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Thaddeus. Besides – that is a poor choice of analogy, as the Gettysburg Address was actually notable for its comparative brevity. It would be more effective to ask, 'What was in it – a novel by Dickens?' or some other piece of text, signifying greater than average length." She sucked on her candy stick composedly as he stared at her, outraged. "Well – are you going to buy the tickets, or just sit there?"

"Which part of 'I'm about cleaned out' didn't you understand?" he said, only prevented from yelling by the other passengers beginning to arrive on the platform. "That was my LAST twenty!"

"You didn't say THAT!"

"I SAID – 'I'm about cleaned out!'"

"Well, how was I supposed to know you meant it? I thought you were just grumbling – like Daddy does." She took another pink tongued lick at her most recent purchase, "Last night you told me you were flush!"

"Last night I WAS flush! Till you started eatin' fit to raise Cain and drinkin' the best champagne. Woulda been cheaper just to feed you a coupla fifty dollar bills between two slices of bread!"

"I hope you're not suggesting this is my fault?" she challenged. Suddenly she abandoned the affronted dignity and said in a matter of fact tone, "Have you really run out of money?"

"Uh huh!"

"What shall we do?"

"Stay there," he ordered. "Don't move! I'll go sound out the possibilities. And don't get chatting to anyone! I don't want you drawing attention to yourself!"

Kid walked off in the direction of a couple of labourers, moving crates at the far end of the platform. Alice watched him speak to them for a few minutes, then disappear from view completely into what looked like a yard full of wagons, spares and odd pieces of machinery.

The 9.30 train chugged in, right on time. Alice watched passengers alighting or climbing aboard. A minute or two ticked by. She scanned the far end of the platform, hoping to see Kid return. She started as his voice sounded close to her ear, from the other direction.

"C'mon, let's get away from here, while there are still other people millin' around. We're gonna hop a train! Be a nice adventure for you to tell 'em about, back home."

"This train?" she asked, moving toward it.

"Nope. The next one."

"The noon train?"

"Nope – the one in-between."

"There isn't a train in-between. I know the time-table, Thaddeus!"

"It's not on the time-table. A freight train. This line probably don't do a lot of freight business – but knew there was bound to be some! All that fancy food an' drink folk are wrapping themselves around, back there at the hotels an' restaurants – it's gotta be coming in from somewhere. And the line owners won't fancy sending the cars back empty. I thought there's bound to be somethin' being hauled on the return journey." Seeing her blink, he added, kindly, "Much easier to hide on a freight train, Alice."

"Oh," she thought for a moment, then smiled up at him, "That was clever!" She tucked her arm through his and gave a little skip, "Hopping a train! What fun!"

Kid looked down at her.

"The novelty soon wears off," he warned her. But, he smiled back. An excited, happy Alice was, after all – VERY easy on the eye.

--oooOOOooo---

An hour later secreted in the siding, Alice and Kid watched the activity of a freight train steaming in, some cars already in place, labourers shunting other cars from the sidings, checking couplings, loading crates, taking on water.

"When do we go?" said Alice, above the clatter and clang of movement and the hissing of the engine.

"About two seconds after it moves."

"Moving!"

"It'll be barely moving. Just beginning to inch along. You'll be fine. I'll lift you – trust me!"

Alice looked at him. She supposed – being a train robber – he must have jumped a hundred moving trains. He must know what he was talking about. At times, during the past 17 hours, she had forgotten he was actually a dangerous criminal. She did – trust him.

Kid went on, "I'm going for the second car back. It was already in place when the train arrived. Nobody got out – so nobody's with whatever's in there. And its got a simple hook and slide door. Grills above too – so it won't be TOO hot – and there'll be some light.

More clanging of metal on metal. Raised voices shouting instructions. A whistle. The engine began to pick up steam. The wheels inched.

"Go," hissed Kid. Bending low, he pulled her toward the car. Leaping up, he slid back the door and, with one hand gripping the car's edge reached and caught her round the waist with one smooth movement. "On three," he instructed, "one, two …" Alice felt herself lifted effortlessly through the air as the train began to move more rapidly. Her feet flew out as she swung into the car. One-handed, Kid slammed it shut. They heard the catch click. His other arm was still wrapped tight round Alice. He placed her gently down, enjoying the pounding of her heart as she clung to him.

Alice caught her breath and smiled up in genuine admiration. Then, a loud 'oink' behind her and a certain pungent quality to the air, wiped the appreciation off her face.

"Thaddeus!" she yelped, looking round, "You … STUPID man! This car is full of pigs! Get me out of here!"

---oooOOOooo---

**MEANWHILE - IN HENRY BROOKER'S OFFICE **

"…So, Mr. Brooker, Briscoe here will follow his leads on Heyes. BUT, if in the meantime, I come up with a method of cracking the Pierce and Hamilton 1880, Guardian B – we're agreed, the fee is for the task, not the man."

Henry Brooker removed his cigar and slowly exhaled. Smoke rose toward the high ceiling. He gazed at Heyes, across the polished expanse of desk.

"That pretty much sums it up, Grant."

A beat.

"From my observations over the years, Mr. Brooker, the latest Pierce and Hamilton often has some – innovations – strikingly similar to the newest Brooker model," said Heyes, blandly.

A heavy scowl creased the manufacturer's brow.

"Some!" he barked. "Try – MOST!" the voice lowered to a rumbling growl, "That skunk Pierce… stealing all our best ideas …trying to make out he's at the cutting edge … man's nothing but a common thief!"

"Uh huh," went on Heyes, "So – this 1880 – has a few things in common with your Model 606, released around the same time?"

Pulling his thoughts away from the iniquities of his business rival, Henry Brooker considered this.

"I suppose - a few," he agreed.

Heyes let the silence stretch out. Seeing Harry about to butt in, he cast a swift warning glance, which had the Bannerman bite back his words. After a minute, what Heyes wanted to happen – did happen. Henry Brooker came up with the right idea himself.

"I suppose – one of our engineers could take you through the shared features."

Harry nearly gave this an effusive agreement, but decided to stick with following Heyes' lead. The ex-outlaw, far from enthusing over the chance for an in depth study of the Brooker 606, glanced - with evident reluctance - at the clock.

"Now?" he hesitated.

Henry Brooker, used to having staff, jump to it, at his slightest word, bridled.

"Do you have something more important to do, Mr. Grant?" he growled, champing on the cigar.

Heyes appeared to take the hint. Eyes widening at the tone, he shook his head.

"No, no! Now is fine!" seeing Brooker evidently waiting for just a little extra, he added, "You're the client, Mr. Brooker."

"That's right!" snapped Brooker. Any lingering reluctance, over the examining of a 606 model, was lost in the satisfaction of seeing this self-assured young man realise just who it was in charge around here. "Cadogen!" he bellowed, to the outer office. The sound of a scraping chair, hurried footsteps and sweaty palmed fumbling at the handle. A youthful, nervous clerk appeared. "Have one of the design office show these gentlemen – one of the demonstration models of the 606," ordered Henry Brooker. Cadogen stood aside, to let Harry pass. As Heyes followed, Brooker shifted in the throne-like leather chair. "Go on ahead, with Mr. Briscoe. I'll show Grant here up myself – in a moment." Harry shot Heyes a glance, reminiscent of rabbit realising the shadow above it is a fox; but having very little choice, he allowed himself to be led away.

---oooOOOooo---

Cadogen relaxed, once out of shouting distance of his boss. His boots clattered on the wrought iron steps leading to the third floor, where skylights flooded the drawing boards with illumination.

"I'd usually ask Jòzef to show any special guests of Mr. Brooker's what they need," he remarked chattily, "but he's been called away. A telegram came for him not half an hour ago. I suppose some – family – problem. I didn't ask. One look at his face was enough for anyone to see it must be bad news."

Harry made no answer. He had already spent a couple of hours earlier, staring at safes, back at the Pierce and Hamilton works. He was pretty sure whoever explained them – he would NEVER grasp what made Heyes and the engineers sparkle with enthusiasm, as terms like 'compression strength', 'diamond grit bit heads' and 'self lubricating carbon seals' floated past his bored ears. In truth, Harry was far too busy worrying over what Henry Brooker might be doing with Heyes, to even listen to Mr. Cadogen.

---oooOOOooo---

What Mr. Brooker was doing, was staring meditatively at the dark-eyed young man seated – on a strategically lower chair - before him. Heyes kept his face deliberately bland. He waited for the older man to say whatever was on his mind.

"It strikes me, Grant – you don't have much in common with Briscoe." A beat. "Except maybe, dissatisfaction with the sufficiency of your salaries."

Heyes allowed a small smile at that.

"Let's say – a willingness to supplement them, Mr. Brooker."

Smoke from the cigar rose into the air.

"That Briscoe – didn't impress me much." A beat. " I hired him – sure – because he has certain knowledge, about this man – Heyes – who I could use." The manufacturer's eyes held those of his visitor. "It was knowledge he refused to share. Not for sale – he said."

Heyes shrugged.

"Perhaps the price wasn't right, Mr. Brooker."

Henry Brooker was clearly trying to read the poker face. He thought he had succeeded.

"If I thought Briscoe was a sensible man – I'd agree. But I think he's a fool." He watched Heyes. Heyes gave a – 'maybe' – smile and shrug. Satisfied, Henry Brooker went on, "A fool – with a lot of sentimental ideas. Not enough conscience to keep him straight. Just enough – to cause a lot of trouble." A beat. "Now you – I suspect you ARE a sensible man, Grant. Am I right?"

Heyes let a little edge show in his voice.

"What's on your mind, Mr. Brooker?" he said, brusquely.

"If Briscoe does track down Heyes – mind you, I'm not exactly holding my breath – I've no intention of handing over $5,000 to an outlaw. Not when I could be collecting ten, once he's performed. Twenty if he's still partnered with Curry. But, after the safe's cracked, I'd need to know where to pick up Heyes. There's not much Briscoe can do about it after the event. Not without losing his job. All I need is someone, sensible, who knows – how to negotiate a price." There was a pause. The cold grey gaze continued to hold the deep brown eyes. "Do we understand each other?"

Heyes gave the manufacturer a knowing smile.

"Oh, I think you've made yourself – perfectly clear, Mr. Brooker. I've found our conversation," his smile widened, "real - profitable." He stood up. "Since we both – have doubts – over Mr. Briscoe's ability to bring Heyes within reach, perhaps I'd better get thinkin' about methods, now. In case we have to put up with just cracking the Pierce and Hamilton, without getting a bounty or two thrown in as a bonus."

…oooOOOooo…

**BACK ON THE FREIGHT TRAIN**

"I REFUSE to travel with p-p-pigs!" squealed Alice, stamping her foot.

"Week, Wee-eek, Wee-eek!" squealed one of the smaller pigs, trotter scraping on the floor, as she snuffled a wet pink snout through the make shift pen holding her away from the door.

Kid grinned.

"Do you think that was – "What she said!" – in pig?" he asked. "Maybe she's not so keen on her company either, huh, Alice?"

Alice fumed at him.

"This is NOT funny!" she yelped. The full meaning of what he had said sunk in. "And I did not squeal like a pig!" she squeaked. Seeing Kid smirk, she took a steadying breath and repeated in a voice a tone lower than usual, "I do not – squeal. My natural – lyric coloratura soprano – merely rises slightly when I am excited!"

"Your – which - rises?"

"I have a high voice!" translated Alice. She tilted up her chin defiantly, "Most discerning people describe it as – silvery!"

"That's before they hafta listen to it yakkin' non-stop, is it?"

"At least I have – the – the…" her chin rose triumphantly, "the faculty of articulating my ideas with assured fluency, Thaddeus."

"Still 'big word' day, huh? I thought that was yesterday?"

"Some of us have vocabularies, Thaddeus. I realise the concept may be foreign to you – but there ARE people who do not consider repeated grunts of 'Uh huh' to be all that is required as a contribution to conversation at the breakfast table."

Kid ran this through his Alice translator.

"Uh huh?" he said, with another grin.

"That was NOT funny!" she huffed.

"Wee-eek!" squealed the pig.

"She appreciated it," pointed out Kid.

"Well – SHE probably also shares some of your table habits!"

"There's nothing wrong with the way I eat, Alice…"

"Ye…" she began.

Kid spoke over her, forcefully, "And even if there is – a REAL lady would be too polite to draw attention to it! Especially in public."

She blinked at this.

"We…" she began again, the tone a shade – just a shade - chastened.

"AND," continued Kid, voice still loud enough to drown out a coloratura soprano – however lyric, "- as pigs are actually charming, intelligent creatures – and quite clean in their own habitat – I think that's a bad…" With a scowl, he realised he had forgotten the term.

"Analogy," supplied Alice, in a matter of fact tone.

"Analogy," he finished. "Thank you," he added, as an afterthought.

"You're welcome," replied Alice.

A beat.

"I should not have criticised your table etiquette in public, Thaddeus. You are quite right – that was rude. I'm sorry."

If Kid had not already settled himself down against the far wall of the car, he might have fallen over in surprise. There was no fluttering or girlish smiling, just a plain – and astonishing – apology.

"You have betrayed me to mine own reproof," explained Alice.

Kid blinked.

"Uh huh?" he managed. Realising this could be taken as further provocation, he rushed on, "Sorry – I mean – not 'uh huh'. Just – no problem." With a smile he added, "I'm sure it was all the right advice for good society. Certainly wouldn't have got into that lobster without you."

"Of course it was RIGHT," she agreed, "I am nearly ALWAYS right. But that's not the point."

"Forget it, Alice."

She resumed the frown.

"I am still – FURIOUS – with you! And while – now you come to mention it – I have read that pigs are highly intelligent; I think the term 'charming' has to be a matter of opinion."

Kid shrugged.

"It REEKS in here!" she went on, voice again rising.

"Nah!" dismissed Kid. "This isn't too bad! I bet they'd only been in here about an hour – maybe less – when we hopped on." He lifted one arm and placed his flat palm high on the wood of the door. "We still have over an hour to go until midday," he said, "It's not even warm in here yet!"

"You mean it's going to get – WORSE," she squealed. Seeing him shrug again, she stamped her foot. "You have to DO something!" He stared at her. "Change cars!" she ordered.

"Pfffttt!" he replied, succinctly.

"Can't we … climb over the roofs," she suggested. "Or… something!" she added, losing a little of her vaunted fluency.

"Who the Sam Hill do you think I am? Deadwood Dick?"

Alice glowered. She could, of course, tell him exactly who she thought he was. She did not.

"I expect it only requires – nerve. And the ability to judge – jumping distances," she fumed.

"Tell you what," offered Kid, "You're always right. You go on ahead – come back and fetch me when you've found a car carryin' nothing but cushions and plates full of profreet…profleet…"

"Profiteroles?"

"Yup. They're the ones." Kid folded his arms and tipped his hat forward over his eyes, ignoring the swelling, indignant figure in front of him. The indignant figure did not relish being ignored. It drew back its foot and delivered a sharp kick to the sole of his boot. "Still here?" said Kid, "Need a leg up onto the roof?"

"Oooohhh!" seethed Alice. She aimed another kick, but Kid was too quick for her. His hand shot out, catching the little foot in its soft, buttoned boot.

"Do that again – I'll tip you over," he warned.

"Take your hands off me!" she demanded, with as much dignity as she could muster, while grabbing his shoulder to remain upright.

"Promise to stop kicking."

"Let me go!" she yelped, trying to wriggle free.

"Promise?"

Her free hand boxed his ear. Smarting, Kid used his own free hand to gather up both of her small ones. Alice wobbled precariously on her one free limb, but still darted defiance from her eyes.

"Stop kicking and stop hitting!" said Kid. Two arms and one leg tugged with all their might.

Alice fell over.

"Let me go!" came a squeal from somewhere around his armpit. Finding a writhing furious blonde on top of him, skirts wildly askew, Kid was forced, in decency, to let go.

The ethereal golden one, now looking distinctly hot and bothered, struggled to her feet. She shot Kid a triumphant look, but had evidently decided to quit the wrestling bouts while still, technically, on a draw.

"You know what you said yesterday?" breathed Kid. "When we first met in the alley."

"What?" asked Alice, abandoning her wrath, as she tried to recall her story.

"About – everyone being really, really angry with you – for missing your train; and for talking to strangers."

"Yes," she confirmed, cautiously. She had said that.

"Is there any chance at all," went on Kid, "That when I get you home – anyone – is going to give you a really good spanking?"

"No of course there isn't!"

"Not even if I tell them – just how you've been behaving?"

"I'm not a child! Besides - Daddy never laid a finger on me in his life!" protested Alice.

"Figures," said Kid.

"They'll just – lecture me."

"Pity!" Kid shook his head.

"In fact – Daddy will be so delighted to see me home safe, he won't even do that! He'll be – overwhelmed with joy!"

"Uh huh?"

"And of course – he'll be so grateful to you Thaddeus!"

"I'm kinda beginnin' to doubt that Alice," he said.

"Doubt what?" Alice's throat tightened in sudden alarm at this remark. She swallowed.

"Doubt anyone will be grateful for getting you back!"

Alice drew herself up to her full height, such as it was.

"I –" she began, with great dignity, "I – shall sit over there with the pigs! Their company is preferable to yours, Thaddeus."

From under his hat, Kid watched her go and perch on the makeshift wooden rail. A curious snout nuzzled her bottom. She wriggled along.

"Any man who can speak to a lady like that – let alone – drag her down to a vulgar embrace on the floor – is quite clearly, below the beasts of the field!" she remarked to the air.

"You stay with the beasts then," said Kid, "Suits me. Course – it's kinda hard on them!"

"I was not speaking to you Thaddeus!"

"Oh?"

"In fact, I am NOT speaking to you – again!"

"Also suits me!"

"I would merely remark that your whole behaviour this morning…."

"Er, Alice…"

"From your surliness at the breakfast table…"

"Alice…"

"Don't try and apologise, Thaddeus! I am not speaking to you! To the way you ran your finger down that bill as if you were going to – to quibble …"

"Come back over here, Alice…"

She smiled. She knew he would want to win her round.

"No! I think I made it perfectly clear that for the rest of the journey – we travel in silence. I will not be spe…"

Alice's eyes narrowed, then jerked wide open, as she felt something hit her back. Not hard – rather like a child's ball being thrown. And again. And again. She looked around. A pig was defecating in the rapid, ejaculatory style natural to the younger males of the species. Another lump of moist, reeking effluent landed on her previously pristine white muslin behind. It clung for a moment, then plopped to the floor, leaving a nice wet green-brown patch to form a pattern with the previous three. With a final spurt, the young porker voided the rest of his bowel contents on a trembling, open mouthed, horrified Alice. Her hands as well as the back of her skirt were splattered. Gasping for air and purpling with rage, she leapt out of range. Too quickly. The heel of her boot caught in the hem of her skirt. With the sound of rending material, Alice slid heavily to the floor. A wet warmth spread around her. Having emptied his bowel, her preferred companion was – not surprisingly – carrying out the same service for his bladder. Finding herself sitting in a steaming yellow pool, Alice screeched. She also did something Kid thought only really happened in novels – she clutched her hair in despair. A fraction of a second later she realised what a terrible mistake this was! Kid winced, impressed at the painful heights to which a truly motivated coloratura soprano could soar. An accusatory finger flung itself at Kid. A small lump of – ordure – flew off the pointing digit.

"This is ALL your fault!" howled Alice.

"I tried to tel…"

"I HATE you!" Kid decided not to argue back any more. "THIS is the WORST thing that has EVER happened to me!" Alice corrected her understatement, "This is BEYOND – the worst. This is a …" Kid waited. "… A CATACLYSM!" she howled, "A CATASTROPHE! This is – ABYSMAL! APPALLING! I have plummeted the depths! Reached the Nadir! Touched the void!" She gaped, "I'm – I'm speechless!" she finished.

"Clearly not," thought Kid, impressed despite himself. He would have had to fall back on – cussing!

---oooOOOooo---


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**HENRY BROOKER'S OFFICE**

When Henry Brooker returned to his desk, after escorting Heyes to the drawing office, he found the thin, grey figure of Mr. Dawkins, his confidential secretary waiting.

"Anything on your mind, Dawkins?"

"Yes, Sir. You may wish me to make – guarded enquiries – to ensure there really is a Bannerman agent by the name of Carl Grant based at Fort Worth."

Henry Brooker blinked. He had not thought of that. Of course, Dawkins did not realise it might be – a little late now.

"Quite right! That's exactly what I want you to do," he blustered.

"Anticipating your – natural caution – Sir, I have already set such enquiries in motion. We will have an answer shortly."

"Good," Brooker shifted in his seat. "Anything else …?"

"I have arranged for Mr. Briscoe and Mr. Grant to be – discreetly – followed, when they take their leave." Mr. Dawkins smiled, "I hope – here too – I correctly interpreted your wishes?"

---oooOOOooo---

Some time later a departing Heyes and Harry paused, in the street outside the Brooker works. Heyes took a last survey of the building.

"Heyes… I mean – you," began Harry.

"Uh huh?"

"I didn't say anything back there – because once you'd started it was too late anyway – but y'know you used the wrong name?"

Heyes gave Harry a long look. He set off walking, Harry scurried to catch up.

"You said Carl Grant. I thought now you were – Thaddeus Jones?"

"Harry," said Heyes, with patience, "Don't it occur to you, someone at Brooker's might just check up there IS a Carl Grant?"

"Oh!" Harry thought for a moment. "But then – "

"Uh huh?"

"Why did we bother rebooking into a fresh hotel with you as Thaddeus Jones?"

"Because there's no 'might' about that. I KNOW Pierce will check. His wife'll remind him. And I got the impression – if either of us wants a fee from Pierce – we need to keep the lady happy."

"Suppose they check with each other?" quibbled Harry.

"Pfffttt!" dismissed Heyes. "Did it sound to you as if Pierce and Brooker are meetin' up for a friendly chat, anytime soon?"

Harry had to shake his head at this. It did seem unlikely. Like Humpty-Dumpty, he returned the conversation to the previous remark.

"And do you?"

"Do I - what?"

"Do you want a fee from him? I couldn't help notice you droolin' – I mean – interested – back there? Are you goin' to do it?" asked Harry, hopefully, "Crack the safes?"

"Nope," said Heyes, "Not the safes. A safe. Singular." He grinned. "I'm tempted to go double or quits – but without Kid holdin' me back – I kinda have to exercise self-control. Two would be showin' off." The grin widened, "I can't have you thinkin' I'm not a model of modest restraint – now can I, Harry?"

"Er… no," Harry strode along, at the dark man's side, for a minute in silence. "Which?" he asked, eventually. "Which one d'ya fancy, Heyes?"

"Have to admit – the Pierce an' Hamilton is more of a challenge. BUT – I will be favourin' the Brooker 606."

"Because it's easier? Or, to keep…" Harry gave a lop-sided grin, "…that pretty, little lady happy?"

He received a dark look from the ex-outlaw.

"Neither! It's because Henry Brooker deserves it!"

Harry blinked.

"Why?"

Heyes explained.

"…So much for it not being a trap, huh, Harry?" He smiled, "Never mind, you were half right."

Harry was frowning, anxiously.

"If Brooker means to double cross us if he can," he said, "Ain't it a bit – dangerous – to risk it? Maybe we should forget all about it?"

"No maybe about it, Harry. Course we should!" Heyes smiled again, "But that'd be just no fun at all!"

They strode on in silence, save for the hum of the crowded streets. After a minute, Harry began again.

"Er…"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What's next?"

"First we go back to the hotel. Then I shall be visitin' the Merchant's National Bank. You, Harry, will be doin' a little shoppin'."

"Shoppin'?"

"You'll be buyin' a few things I might need tonight."

"Tonight?"

Heyes sighed.

"If you lose your job over this Harry, you could always hire yourself out as a parrot."

"Parrot?" Harry's mouth hung open for a moment. With a little shake of his confused head, he went on, "I mean – tonight? You're doin' it tonight!"

Heyes nodded.

"Y'know what they say, Harry. If it were done, when 'tis done, t'were well it were done quickly."

"Huh?"

"It might not give me long to plan. But it gives them the same problem. And they NEED more time than me. Because …" Heyes grinned, " … to quote my new best friend, Theodore Pierce, - I'm the best!"

Harry chewed on this, for the length of a street. At the turn, he ventured,

"Er…you do realise this ain't the way to the hotel?"

"It may not be THE way. It is A way. Just not a very direct way."

"Why …"

"Remember what you told me yesterday – about Bannermen being trained by experts?"

"Uh huh?"

"Does your expert trainin' tell you anything now?" asked Heyes, pleasantly.

Harry thought for a moment. Shoulders drooping, he gave up.

"Such as…"

"Such as – we are being followed," said Heyes. Harry swivelled and scanned the busy street. "Eyes front, Harry!" ordered Heyes, "No need to let them know we know."

"Who is it?" hissed Harry.

"No need for the conspiratorial hissing, Harry. He's staying a good thirty yards back. Who? No idea. Who's he workin' for? Brooker." Heyes paused, "Now – SHE…"

"She?" yelped Harry, only prevented from turning round again by Heyes' fingers gripping his arm.

"Yup – SHE is making a far better job of staying out of sight. Even I didn't realise she was with us, in more than spirit, until three streets back," admired Heyes.

"And – you're circling – to lose 'em?" asked Harry.

"Nah!" smiled Heyes. "I'm just messin' with him! He can follow us to the hotel – won't bother me. I can lose him later. Amateur!" He pulled Harry to a stop and wheeled around. "As for her – why would I want to lose her? I'm much happier knowin' where she is!" He allowed an expression of recognition to sweep across his face. Taking off his derby, he waved it high in the air. "Hello!" he called out, causing many heads to turn, "Hello! Ma-am! It's us! Ma-am!" he called again, still waving, beginning to stride through the carriages, wagons and horses. Harry scanned the street. She was not here. Heyes must be wrong. She was nowhere to be seen.

Wiping a chagrined expression off her face, Grace yielded to the inevitable. She detached herself from a pair of ladies, gazing with rapt attention at a display of embroidered silk shawls, in a store window and turned round.

"Mr. Jones," she smiled, with distant politeness. "What a surprise!" Her eyes took in Harry, "Mr. Briscoe," she nodded, yet more coolly.

Harry began to pay those little attentions so – appreciated – by the female sex.

"I see you're window shoppin', huh?" he said, sweeping off his hat and grinning widely, "Nothin' pleases you ladies like shoppin' for new clothes. Ain't that a fact? Not that a pretty little lady like you needs clothes to look good. New clothes I mean - I didn't mean – no clothes. I mean, you'd look good in any old thing, ma-am. Not that what you have on isn't real fetchin' – but even if you weren't wearin' anythin' - I mean anythin' in particular – I mean nothin' special …" The icy look he was receiving from Grace, finally froze the words on Harry's lips. He shut up.

"We're stayin' at the Stanwyck Hotel," said Heyes, conversationally.

Since this was what she wanted to know, Grace should have looked more grateful for the information. But, the laughing look in Heyes' eyes told her that he knew – that she knew – that he knew – that she had followed him to find out this very fact.

"Oh?" she remarked, with supreme and chilly indifference.

"Would you do Mr. Briscoe and me the very great honour of joining us for coffee there? Or, perhaps, even lunch?"

Grace considered her options. Snubbing Heyes would be a pleasure of the moment. But she was a dozen years older and wiser than Alice. So, after a short pause, she smiled and said, "How kind. I could spare time for a brief cup of coffee, Mr. Jones."

"Oh!" Heyes struck his forehead, in a dramatic gesture of remembrance, "…I forgot! Mr. Briscoe WON'T be able to join us. He'll have – urgent matters – to attend to in the city!"

Grace's smile became a little less forced. Ignoring a smothered protest from Harry, she said, "How unfortunate!" and slipped her arm through that of her old, old friend.

…oooOOOooo…

**BACK ON THAT FREIGHT TRAIN**

The liquid, in which Alice sat, gradually seeped away through cracks between the hay-strewn planks making up the floor of the car. Scarlet with fury, she struggled to get up. Her heel was still caught and slid from under her on the slick wooden surface. She thumped back down.

"Owww!" yelped Alice. Then, feeling this to be inadequate, she threw back her head and sent up a howl of anguish.

Kid got to his feet. He strode over.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"Of COURSE I'm not OK!" she yelled. "I am covered in …"

"I mean – apart from that?"

"APART from that! Apart from THAT! How can I be alright –" she dropped her voice and imitated his delivery, "- apart from that?! Uh huh?"

Kid blinked.

"I only meant – did you hurt yourself?" He squatted down and freed the tattered skirt, still caught fast on her heel. She glowered at him. He stood back up and held out a hand.

"I DON'T need any help!"

"C'mon! Let me get you on your feet. If you want – you can kick me again!"

Her eyes sparkled in momentary anticipation. Still she hesitated to accept his hand.

"Can't sit there all day, Alice – castin' your golden curls before swine!"

"It ISN'T funny!!" she yelled. A certain fundamental honesty caused her to add, "Actually - THAT was quite good!" A beat. "For you!" she temporised. She wiped her hands clean on the front of her skirt, before allowing him to help her up.

"Oh Thaddeus," she whined, twisting her head over her shoulder. "Just look at what I'm covered in!"

"Yup – sh…"

"Faeces! Porcine excreta!"

Kid nodded. It was not – quite – what he had been about to say, but he assumed that was simply a question of Alice's – vocabulary.

"And I am SOAKED. Not content with subjecting me to ordeal by ordure, that revolting animal has deluged me in - in swinish urine!"

Kid blinked. But since he was in – mixed company – perhaps, it was better to let Alice handle the terminology.

"Even my drawers are wringing wet!" Kid clenched his lips together. He did want to keep a straight face.

"If you so much as snigger," threatened Alice. "I will scoop up what fell off my skirt – fill your hat with it – and press down so hard – it'll come out of the top of your boots!"

"Alice," said Kid, "Believe me – I'm tryin' my best!"

"Do I … stink?"

Kid shrugged – but was forced to nod.

"And – how long have we still got to go?" she asked.

"Well, if this was a passenger train, about two an' a half, three hours." Alice closed her eyes in agony. "But," went on Kid, "Freight trains sometimes are a mite slower. We might even pull into a sidin' – let the noontime passengers run through." A shudder ran through besmirched girl. "There's a trough of water for the pigs. We could clean up your hands and face – where you touched it." A beat. "An' – I've a comb. Once it's dry we can use it to get the … the… stuff… outta your hair."

She drew herself up. With an effort, she gave a nod.

"Thank you."

Kid thought hard. Hesitantly he said, "Alice…what have you got on under your dress?"

She opened her eyes wide in surprise.

"Thaddeus!"

He hurried on.

"I mean – if you're wearing petticoats, an' somethin' – fairly full – on top, you could just take it off. I'll open the door a fraction – throw it out. You'd still be damp – but you wouldn't be covered in … y'know."

She considered. Turning around, she pulled forward her bodice and squinted down her front.

"The bottom half isn't a problem, but my camisole's a bit – flimsy," she reported, after a brief inspection. "I can see my…I can see myself," she finished carefully.

Kid thought for a moment more.

"You can have my Henley," he offered. He grinned, "Can't offer you the suit from outta my saddlebags, because I know you think that's – what was it - hideous?"

"Heinous," she corrected.

She thought about this for a second. She turned her back.

"Unhook me then – top two – I'll trust you not to peek." As he unfastened the top of her dress, she added, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," replied Kid. With a grin, he said, "Course – I trust you not to peek too – when I take my shirt off."

"Pfffttt!" dismissed Alice, "You wish!"

---oooOOOooo---

**A SEDATE HOTEL LOUNGE - SAN FRANCISCO**

Grace smiled graciously at the waiter pouring coffee in the lounge of the Stanwyck Hotel. She glanced at the clock - around eleven thirty. Alice's brief wire that morning had confirmed she and Kid Curry would catch the nine thirty train. That still gave Grace nearly two hours in which to abort her plans. She had left the house this morning - almost - convinced in her own mind to do so. She had always intended to remain firmly in the background. Now Heyes knew that Mrs. Theodore Pierce was an 'old, old friend' - she would be at the top of his list of suspects if and when his partner mysteriously - disappeared. Moreover, the fact that Heyes had been in consultation with her husband, planning a trip to the Brooker works, seemed to imply he needed no additional inducements to fall in with Harry Briscoe's suggestion.

This second point surprised her. She did not - entirely - trust the evidence. Firstly, because she knew how serious was Heyes' intent to go straight in his bid for amnesty. Was his seeming interest in the task a ruse? To deceive Theo? Maybe. To deceive - her? But, Heyes had had no idea she WAS Mrs. Theodore Pierce until last night. His astonishment could not have been fake. Or - could it? Grace knew him as one of the smoothest confidence tricksters of her - varied - experience.

Certainly, Grace underestimated the inherent attraction of the challenge offered, independent of payment, when considering whether Heyes would give one final farewell performance as a safecracker extraordinaire.

Other factors also made her hesitate to abort the kidnapping of Kid Curry. Alice was toying with incorporating some 'provocative prodding for the too patient admirer'. Grace had both a fondness and a grudging admiration for the un-squashable stepdaughter. Alice could have scuppered her father's marriage before it took place, or made Grace's life extremely difficult afterwards. She had not. A certain genuine wish for her father's happiness amidst all her adolescent bumptiousness brought out the best in Alice and Grace was - she almost blushed - grateful.

Grace herself was - for purely sportive reasons - reluctant to abandon her carefully laid plans. She had reeled Kid Curry into captivity once. She was sure - with the help of Alice and a dear friend from her PAST (capital letters) - she could do it again. A comfortable, nay, luxurious, safe, short captivity. It would show Jed Curry - he was still no match for her. AND, with Heyes' partner held to ransom, at a location deposited in advance in the Merchants' National Bank, what choice would Heyes have, but to crack the Brooker 606? She - Grace - would get a little of her own back. Without exactly holding any ill will against her 'old, old friends', Grace enjoyed the thought of evening the score.

She gave another gracious smile. Heyes and Harry Briscoe, who had excused themselves upon arrival at the hotel, re-entered the lounge.

"Er - goodbye ma-am," said a subdued, but well briefed Harry. "Sorry I can't join you." He tried to look important, "Urgent business calls."

"Got your list safe, Harry?" smiled Heyes.

"Er - sure," said Harry, doubtfully. He did have a list of requirements and sources. What he did not have was any way of reading the word 'nitro', without coming out in a sweat. He braced himself, thought of the fee and headed back outside.

"Well," said Heyes, sitting down and giving Grace a charming dimpled smile, "What an unexpected pleasure to run into an old, old friend." She smiled, still the very picture of poise. "And, let me offer you belated congratulations, Mrs. Pierce," went on Heyes. He sipped his coffee, "You appear very happily - settled."

"Thank you," smiled back Grace. "My - settlement - is such that I could no longer have any real interest whatsoever in…" she pretended to search, "… oh - in, purely hypothetically, handing in wanted men for a paltry $20,000."

"Loose change, huh?" said Heyes.

"We…ell," temporised Grace, "…It wouldn't go far towards the plans for my simple little summer retreat."

He shook his head, sadly.

"Grace…" he took her hand and gazed in her limpid eyes, "…I'm saddened by that mercenary attitude. Like I said once before, there are more important things than money…"

"Before you climb any further onto the moral high ground," she forestalled him, "…just remind me what you used to do for a living Mr. Jones?"

Heyes gave an appreciative nod, acknowledging a hit. He retained hold of her hand.

"Do you ever remember our time together at Mineral Springs, Grace?" he charmed - with dimples.

"How could I forget?" asked Grace, "…such a delightful resort." A beat. "Though, I seem to recall the stay worked out more expensive than I planned."

"Do you remember how madly in love with you I fell?" Heyes tone was at its most caressing. She smiled. "I hope" he breathed "…you look back as fondly as I do?" A gracious inclination of the head indicated - 'yes'. The deep voice began to purr seductively, "Perhaps…?"

"No," said Grace.

"Is love to be caged by outdated constrai…?"

"Yes, it is," she interrupted, bluntly. "I may have married for money, but I'm keeping my side of the bargain. Besides…tempting though your proposition is…" Again - she almost blushed. Almost. "I'm - I'm fond of Theo."

Heyes released her hand, sat back and returned to his normal tones.

"No offence?" he checked.

"None at all," she confirmed. She sipped her coffee. "I was wondering, Mr. Jones?"

"Uh huh?"

"What are your - alternative - plans for the rest of today?"

"Oh…something will turn up," smiled Heyes. "I thought - this afternoon - I might do a little sight-seeing. I believe San Francisco has some of the finest buildings in the country?"

"The - the Merchants' National Bank is much admired," remarked Grace.

"Uh huh?" grunted Heyes, not a flicker of interest disturbed his poker face.

"And, I believe the interior is most impressive," persisted Grace. "If you are interested in banks, Mr. Jones?"

Heyes shrugged. Grace was not so uncontrolled as to scowl, but her lips did press together in impatience. Heyes relented, slightly.

"If YOU have business at the bank, ma-am, it would be my pleasure to escort you,"

"Er…" hesitated Grace. She would need to call on a friend from her PAST (still capitalised) first. If Heyes already planned to…? But, did he?

"Grace," smiled Heyes, leaning forward again. "Is there anythin' you want to ask me?"

She decided to quit fencing. She too leaned forward, confidentially.

"Are you going to…?"

"Hello, Darling," came a sudden and distinctly suspicious voice. It added, in a tone so chilly it could freeze warm, British beer, "Jones!" Theodore Pierce switched his gaze back to his wife. "I thought you were spending the morning shopping, Darling?"

"I am," she smiled back. "I ran into Mr. Jones in Union Square. He offered me coffee."

"Uh huh?" said her husband, another wary glance was cast at the handsome young man who had - not to put too fine a point on it - gawped at his wife, last night.

"And," continued Grace, unruffled, "…he has offered to escort me. Isn't that kind?"

"Too kind!" grunted Pierce. "Haven't you got things to be getting on with, Jones?"

"Well…" began Heyes, unruffled as Grace. Sheesh! They were only drinking coffee!

"I'LL escort my wife wherever she wants to go," declared Pierce, "No need for you to trouble!"

"Darling!" fluttered Grace. Delight swept across her lovely face. Her eyes shone with such flattering anticipation, no man could help but be gratified. She stood up and took her husband's arm, kissing his cheek. "You're going to forget work and spend the whole day with me! You spoil me!"

"Nonsense," demurred a much mollified Theodore Pierce.

"How lovely!" sighed Grace, giving up any thoughts of aborting the plans centred on Kid Curry. She would just have to free him tomorrow. "Let's visit that place I told you about that fits luxury bathrooms." She gave Heyes a civil nod, "Goodbye, Mr. Jones. Thank you for the coffee."

"Darling!" Heyes' sharp ears heard, as the pair walked away, "…you're too innocent - too untouched by the world - too trusting! That man was - was trying to charm his way into your affections. I could tell!"

"No!" breathed Grace, "…surely not!"

…oooOOOooo---

**ONCE MORE UNTO THE TRAIN DEAR FRIENDS …**

Three hours had passed in the second car of a certain freight train bound for San Francisco. It seemed longer to a disconsolate and - frankly - malodorous Alice. Despite Kid having tossed her bespattered dress to the four winds, she was still exuding the natural pungency of one over whom a pig has emptied his aching bladder. Or rather, two hours and fifty minutes ago, when still damp, she had been exuding natural pungency. Now she had dried out and thoroughly heated through in the hot car, the aroma she gave off was anything but 'natural'. It verged on 'unbelievable'.

If the journey seemed long to Alice, it was never ending to Kid. The smell and the heat he bore stoically enough. The problem was Alice. She was not a girl to suffer in silence. Well, to be fair, she was not a girl to enjoy herself in silence, either. Her articulate, fluent lamentation harrowed Kid. If he had been of a philosophical bent, he could have profited by the morning's journey to reflect on the nature of eternity and the concept of time being an infinite plane rather than a line.

Just when he had abandoned hope of ever ceasing to hear both the rattle of the train and the rattle of the ethereal golden one - he did. The train slowed and squealed gently to a halt. So - miraculo dicto - did Alice. She stared wide-eyed at Kid. Her perspiring face lit up with eager hope.

"Are we - there?" she breathed.

Kid hoisted himself up to peer through the grill above the sliding door of the car. His shoulders drooped.

"No!"

"Oooooh!" wailed Alice. "Why are we stopping, then?"

"Dunno," shrugged Kid, reseating himself by his saddlebags. "Maybe takin' on water."

The door rattled. Kid got to his feet, gun leaping to his hand. The door opened. An elderly man, evidently an employee of the railroad, stood blinking at them. He took in first the bedraggled Alice in petticoats and an overlarge Henley, then Kid. His eyes fell to the gun. He gulped.

"Er - I just came to give the livestock a breath of air while we take on water," he said.

"Uh huh," acknowledged Kid. As the newcomer was clearly unarmed, he returned his gun to its holster. The man relaxed a little.

"But…" the railway employee continued, tentatively.

"But - here's where we get off, huh?" sighed Kid. It was a risk when hopping a train. "How far are we from 'Frisco?"

"Less'n five miles walking cross country. Mite longer if you follow the line," came the reply. With a would be reassuring smile, the man added, "Could be a lot worse! If it were up to me - I'd let you ride. But if they see you leave come 'Frisco, they'll know I found you and said nothin'! I could lose my job!" An avuncular eye went from Kid to Alice. "Runaway couple, huh?"

"NO!" exclaimed Kid, horrified.

"NO!" squealed a lyric coloratura soprano, rising impressively in revulsion. Alice, after checking the floor to prevent further mishap, stamped her foot. "I'm NOT walking five miles!" She scowled at the mild-mannered, silvery haired, lovable grandfather in the doorway. Her gaze shifted imperiously to Kid. "Use your gun, Thaddeus! Threaten to shoot him!"

"HUH?" demanded Kid.

"Er - I don't want no trouble!" protested the old man.

"You don't have to ACTUALLY shoot him!" temporised Alice, ever a model of maidenly reasonableness. "Just do whatever it takes so we can stay on the train." Her face lit with inspiration, "You could tie him up. Use your bandana as a gag!"

Kid nodded.

"Usin' my bandana as a gag?" he mused, thoughtfully, eyes firmly on Alice's delightfully sculpted lips. "Wish I'd thought of that a coupla hours ago!" He grinned, "Still - I can bear it in mind now you've suggested it!" He jumped down from the car. "C'mon Alice! A brisk stroll will do you good!"

"No!" she stamped. "I WON'T!"

"Er…" put in their discoverer. "The guard might just let the young LADY ride. If'n that's any use to you?"

"Whaddya say, Alice?" asked a hopeful Kid. "Say goodbye now?"

Alice blinked. She recalled her instructions. With admirable fortitude and determination, she was by Kid's side in a moment. The kindly old man reeled back, as she passed.

"Certainly not, Thaddeus," she said, clutching his arm and summoning up a radiant smile. "A promise is a promise. You see me all the way home - and get repaid and rewarded."

"Forget the money," attempted Kid, "If you wanna ride on alone…?" He was forestalled.

"I would not DREAM of abandoning you, Thaddeus." Seeing him about to protest again, Alice placed a dainty finger against his lips. "Not another word," she smiled, coquettishly. "I am NOT so selfish! I could not bear to think of you suffering that long walk without me there to keep up your spirits!"

"Uh huh?" said Kid, flummoxed. He could not help being rather touched. Poor Alice. Despite everything, she clearly wanted to cling to him until the last possible moment. Maybe the scornfulness earlier was just an act, to rouse his interest. He gently removed her hand from his arm. "Fine, Alice," he said, kindly, "But - if you wanna walk arm in arm - any chance you could go on the left? It's more downwind."

---oooOOOooo---


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**SAN FRANCISCO - BUT NOT NOB HILL**

It was late afternoon before a bedraggled…

Bedraggled because, during a session of nose in the air 'storming off', when her suggested short cut was rejected, she tripped over a tree root and fell down a steep bank.

…and grass-stained…

It was a bank lushly carpeted with turf.

…and muddy…

There was a particularly glutinous puddle at the base.

…and limping…

Her boots were not made for walking.

…and stinking…

I think you know that one.

…and STILL bursting with energy...

You just cannot keep a true heroine down.

…Alice…

…announced to an ear-sore Kid.

"This is it…I'm home!"

"Uh huh?" grunted Kid.

At one point, he had thought Alice seemed unsure of her route. Mind you, at bottom a fair man, Kid had to admit she HAD been having a rough day. AND, since he had finally given in to a suggested short cut - they had reached the city limits, not to resort to a euphemism - lost. He glanced up at the substantial house. He had rather expected to be led to a mansion on Nob Hill and, was a shade closer to what Heyes referred to as 'what the beautiful - wicked - city has to offer', than he anticipated. Still, he could not deny, as Alice mounted the steps scrubbed to a dazzling cleanliness and rapped firmly on the highly polished brass knocker, it did look prosperous.

The door was opened by a young woman dressed as a maid, respectably bedecked in snowy cap and apron. She was, Kid could not help but notice - gorgeous. Deeply fringed, dark eyes widened at the dishevelled specimen standing on the top step.

"Er…Miss Alice?" she said, in completely understandable bewilderment. Then the 'maid' made a mistake. She inhaled. She heaved a smothered gasp of horror. Kid gave her a sympathetic little smile and touched his hat politely.

"Yes!" confirmed Alice. Remembering her lines, she added, "Is - is my aunt at home?"

A second complete stranger to Alice joined the 'maid' at the door. Kid noticed this expensively dressed lady, whilst quite clearly over forty, was also exceedingly handsome. At first glance, she confirmed every argument he had ever heard in favour of older women. He tipped his hat again and, despite being hot and tired, summoned up a charming smile.

"Alice?" cooed the owner of the delightful autumnal face, "Oh darling - we were beginning to think you'd never get here. She took in Alice's state." The face of Grace's good friend from the PAST (capitals), took on an expression of unfeigned astonishment. "What's happened to you?" She inhaled. A scent drenched lace handkerchief was clutched hastily to her nose. "Let's get you inside - and into a good hot bath!"

"This," said Alice, turning and gesturing to the bottom of the steps, "…is Mr. Thaddeus Jones, Aunt - er - Beatrice. He rescued me from two horrid, horrid men yesterday and lent me money … and looked after me … and brought me all the way home," She threw Kid the most grateful look he had received since boarding the train, "I can never repay him!"

"Please," gushed 'Aunt Beatrice', "…please come in Mr. Jones." Kid did - come in. "How can we ever thank you for returning dear Alice to us?" She pressed his hand and gave him an enchanting smile.

"It was nothing, ma-am," said Kid, politely. Not truthfully, certainly - but politely.

"You will stay for dinner?" pressed 'Aunt Beatrice, "And - I don't know what your plans are Mr. Jones - but can we offer you a room for the night?"

"Oh - no ma-am," demurred Kid.

"But dinner?" repeated 'Aunt Beatrice'. "Please, Mr. Jones - I know Alice's father will want to thank you personally when he returns home. And," she allowed her admiration to show, "…it would make ME so happy if you could stay."

"Well, in that case, ma-am," smiled Kid, "Sure. Thank you."

"Alice," said 'Aunt Beatrice'. "Let Mary run you a bath." With honest urgency, she added, "Now!" She glowed back at Kid, "Maybe - forgive me - you'd like a hot bath before dinner too, Mr. Jones?"

"Well," hesitated Kid. He DID like a good hot tub. He grinned and nodded.

"But first," smiled 'Aunt Beatrice', 'Let me offer you a drink, Mr. Jones." A beat. "Off you go, Alice. I'll take good care of Mr. Jones."

Kid smiled, the day was definitely picking up. He was not sure which words had been most welcome. 'Hot bath', 'drink', or …the most likely winner …'Off you go, Alice'.

---oooOOOooo---

**INSIDE the Merchants' National Bank, San Francisco A LOCATION so cunning, if I told you where it was - you would accuse me of making it up! an hour before closing. **

Heyes settled down patiently, to await the quiet hours of the night. He had lost the men following him with a simple flick of the intellect. He had a half-finished copy of a weaving Wilkie Collins' novel. The safety lamps amongst his carefully packed equipment meant he could read in comfort. And…he had a hot date with a Brooker 606 to look forward to.

Life was good.

---oooOOOooo---

**THE HOUSE WE SAW KID ENTERING - BUT UPSTAIRS**

Kid blinked and groaned. His head felt - thick. Thick and foggy. Still only semi-conscious he tried to rub his eyes. His arm jerked as he moved his right hand - it was caught in something. The ex-outlaw struggled to wake up thoroughly. This feeling was familiar. Was it a hangover? Surely not? He had only had a couple of glasses of fine Irish single malt. When had he felt like this before? Suddenly, as his brain cleared - he knew. Someone … No, not someone - warm and winning 'Aunt Beatrice', had slipped him a Mickey Finn.

Anger darted through him. He tried to sit up. Again his arm jerked. Twisting his head he saw he was firmly cuffed to a gleaming brass bedstead.

"Oh, don't struggle," came a concerned and liltingly lovely voice. "We really don't want you to hurt yourself, Mr. Jones."

Kid began to take in his surroundings. The first surrounding he focused on was the source of the enchanting voice.

A pair of vaguely familiar, melting brown eyes searched his face. He caught a delightful whiff of jasmine, as the owner of the eyes bent over him. Generously full ruby lips asked, "You don't feel sick do you, Mr. Jones?" The lady he knew as 'Aunt Beatrice', went on, "I have a bowl in case. I could help you sit up." She gently bathed his forehead with a cool cloth. "Some people do feel sick."

Kid shook his head. He did not feel particularly sick. Confused - sure. Angry - certainly.

"Why are you holding me?" he asked.

"I'm being paid," explained the warm and winning voice. "And," continued the benevolent caressing tones of 'Aunt Beatrice', "…in case you think I'm purely mercenary, I am helping out a dear old friend." A beat. "Not Alice," she clarified, with a glance at the ethereal golden one, seated in a boudoir chair. Another beat. "I AM pretty mercenary as well," she added, candidly.

"I'M not being paid," gloated Alice, now clean, sparkling, also smelling faintly of jasmine and wrapped in an over-large dressing gown. "I'M one of the clients!"

Kid lifted his head to meet Alice's eyes. He suddenly became aware of another part of his surroundings.

"Hey," he said, squinting down at himself rather inadequately, though very sensuously, covered with a slithering and slippery satin sheet. He clutched this with his one free hand and glowered at Alice, torn between embarrassment and anger. "Did you…" despite himself, he blushed, "…did you undress me?"

"Pfffttt! You wish!" scoffed Alice.

"I undressed you," smiled 'Aunt Beatrice'. "Don't worry, Mr. Jones. There was nothing I haven't seen before."

"I hid your clothes though," crowed Alice. "You're much less likely to make an escape stark naked except for a rose pink satin sheet! AND I - I was the bait!" She swelled with pride, "I was brilliant, wasn't I Thaddeus? You fell for it all, just like we planned!" She swelled a little more, "You found me utterly irresistible, didn't you Thaddeus?"

"No!" he protested.

"Ha!" she scoffed, standing up and pointing. "What are you doing here then? HA!" Enjoying herself, she added another, "HA!" Finding this inadequate she raised her chin and uttered a line Kid thought was only found within the pages of dime novels. "Muhaha!" A beat. "I've wanted to do that since yesterday afternoon!" pronounced Alice, returning to her normal tones.

"Why?" asked the confused Kid.

"I suppose it's just one of those things you read about and never think you'll say in real life," answered Alice, conversationally. "Muhaha!" she cackled, again.

"No! I mean why did you trap me?" Something else about his surroundings sank in. He looked at the handcuffs securing his right hand to the brass bedstead. They were - padded. He took in the exotic boudoir atmosphere, "An' - what the Sam Hill is this place?"

"It USED to be what you think it is, Mr. Jones," said 'Aunt Beatrice', carefully, with a wary look at an inquisitively interested - but naïve, Alice.

"As for why," said Alice, "…I want your partner to do me - and a friend of mine - a little favour. You are going to be an incentive. Then," she went on kindly, "…he can rescue you."

"My - partner?" queried Kid, cautiously.

"Yes," smiled Alice. "You remember who your partner is don't you, Thaddeus?" Her eyes glittered, as he hesitated. Did she - did she know who he was? "YOU remember…Hee yis…" she started, drawing out the vowel indicatively. She knew all right! "He's - Joshua Smith, WITHOUT a silent 'P'" She cast a quick glance at 'Aunt Beatrice' and gave Kid a tiny shake of the head. 'Aunt Beatrice' he gathered, had NOT been briefed on the true identity of her prisoner. Kid blinked. "Once Mr. Smith does our little favour - you'll be free to go," finished Alice.

"You'll be free to go after a night - two at the most - anyhow," smiled 'Aunt Beatrice'. "You're quite safe."

"Maybe," glowered Alice.

"Definitely," stated 'Aunt Beatrice', firmly. "Those are my instructions! No harm whatsoever to come to Mr. Jones. AND - as soon as Mr. Smith finds him - that means the job's done. He can go." Alice still glowered. "Come along Alice," said 'Aunt Beatrice', "We'll let the others take care of Mr. Jones for a while." She went to the door and repeated, "I said - come along Alice!" They exited.

Kid's mind was racing. What kind of favour did they want from Heyes? Was it a trap to double the bounty? Somehow, it did not feel like that. It seemed too - too elaborate. He again took stock of his surroundings as he tugged fruitlessly at the softly padded, but still very serviceable handcuff. Sure - he was a prisoner. But, it was a pretty comfortable cage. No. It did not feel like bounty hunters.

Suddenly Kid's mind stopped racing over escape plans. The entrance of a familiar - and gorgeous - girl, distracted him. From the doorway, deeply fringed dark eyes met his. A long curling tendril of glossy dark hair - free now of the maid's cap - tickled a rosy cheek as its owner smiled.

The girl he had heard referred to as 'Mary' cooed, "Hello, Mr. Jones. We've been told to make sure your stay is as comfortable as possible."

"We?" queried Kid.

"Yes," chimed in a second dove-soft voice. Kid saw a duplicate 'Mary' appear in the doorway. She gave him a smile, full of promise. "We."

The two enchantresses came in and shut the door. Each perched on the bed - opposite sides of the tethered, naked, satin swathed ex-outlaw.

"Are you - are you twins?" Kid checked, "Or, am I seeing double?"

Two delightful giggles rippled over him.

"We're twins, Mr. Jones, I'm Mary," smiled the beauty on his left.

"And I'm Susan," fluttered the one on the right. "But you can call me, Sue."

"We're being paid," explained Mary, "Just to make your stay as pleasant as it can be."

"Very well paid," concurred Sue.

"And - we're real good at pleasant," fluttered Mary.

"Exceptional," chimed in Sue.

"You can have anything you like," enticed Mary, running a finger down Kid's chest.

"Except to go free," demurred Sue, blowing gently in his ear.

Kid clutched at the slipping thin satin sheet. Two pairs of glowing dark eyes followed his hand. Kid blushed. Two sets of generous lips smiled in the satisfaction of a job well - started.

"Have you heard of parole, Mr. Jones?" breathed Mary.

"She means - in wartime. Not as part of the prison system," clarified Sue.

"Er…?" hesitated Kid. This definitely still did not feel like bounty hunters. Not that his mind was any longer completely focused on escape. He was - distracted.

Mary snaked over sinuously to one of two connecting doors in the room. She opened it, revealing a luxuriously fitted bathroom. The gleaming porcelain bath was full of steaming water and lush foam.

"If you give us your word - your parole - not to try to escape," smiled Mary, "Just for, say, an hour. We uncuff you - and you can have a bath. And a Cuban cigar to smoke in it."

"Because," cooed Sue, lashes quivering, "…the client is sure your word can be trusted."

"How - how do I know it's not a trap?" hesitated a sorely tempted Kid.

Mary wrinkled her velvety brow.

"How can you be more trapped - without the handcuffs on - in a bath, than cuffed to a bedstead?" she asked.

Kid thought. He thought some more. Nothing sprang to mind.

"You'd - you'd really take the cuffs off?" he said.

Sue smiled and nodded.

"For an hour - but we need your word first. That you'll let us fasten you back up."

"Unless," purred Mary, into his ear, "…we don't manage to finish scrubbing your back and doing anything else that makes you - comfortable, in an hour. Then - you can have another hour. But - you have to give your word."

"If you DON'T give your word," exhaled Sue, her hand travelling down a sensitive path on his inner arm, "…we just leave you fastened up. Where's the sense in that?"

Kid felt two gentle nips - one on each earlobe. He gave up trying to retain the sheet as a bad job. He gulped.

"If I do let you - uncuff me - an' give my parole," this man of iron will checked, "… you won't tell my partner… that I let you two girls fasten me back up?"

"Mr. Jones," protested Mary, in a mildly offended tone, "…we are the very souls of discretion!"

"You can trust us not to let you down!" concurred Sue, earnestly.

"You can trust us not to disappoint you in any way," purred Mary.

"Consider me - paroled," capitulated Kid.

---oooOOOooo---

**HENRY BROOKER'S OFFICE **

"What do you mean - lost them!" thundered a purple faced Henry Brooker, "How could he lose them?"

"Not THEM, Sir," temporised Mr. Dawkins. "Our man lost Carl Grant. We still have Harry Briscoe under observation. They split up."

"Why the Sam Hill didn't he stay with Grant?"

"He did, Sir," explained Mr. Dawkins. "Despite that, he lost him. I suspect Mr. Grant's Bannerman training alerted him to the fact he was being followed." A beat. "My - guarded enquiries - did confirm there is indeed a Bannerman agent by the name of Carl Grant based at Fort Worth. He is not far past thirty. He is dark haired."

"So - it is him - Carl Grant? Not Hannibal Heyes."

"It could be," answered the cautious Mr. Dawkins. He still had doubts. "Let us say - in the Scottish manner - 'not proven'." Another beat. "I have other information, Sir."

"Good or bad,"

"Mixed," replied Mr. Dawkins. "Yes, I think - mixed - is the fairest description."

"Uh huh?"

"Before we lost Mr. Grant, he was seen in brief conversation with Theodore Pierce," intoned Mr. Dawkins.

"That sneaky skunk! That snake in the grass! That…" began Brooker.

"Quite, Sir!" interrupted Mr. Dawkins. He had heard this before. Often.

"OH!" exclaimed Brooker. "You think Grant is goin' to double cross us somehow - with Pierce?"

"The thought did occur, Sir."

"That sneaky…"

"QUITE, Sir." A beat. "The final piece of information our man brought back is more positive, Sir."

"Uh huh?"

"First, I must ask you to cast back your mind a week," requested Mr. Dawkins.

Henry Brooker blinked. "Uh huh."

"I offered to buy Mr. Briscoe a drink, after his meeting with you, Sir. As you will recall."

"Uh huh?"

"In fact, I bought him a lot of drinks. All the finest straight Kentucky corn whiskey. My hope was," said Mr. Dawkins, "…this might, together with judicious flattery, encourage Mr. Briscoe to disclose more facts about Hannibal Heyes."

"Didn't though - did it?" grunted Brooker.

"No," admitted Mr. Dawkins. "Even when - no longer sober - Mr. Briscoe took great care not to reveal anything about Hannibal Heyes." He smiled, meaningfully. "However, he did, while - under the influence - and without realising he had done so - let slip something else." A beat.

"Uh huh?" urged Brooker.

"A name. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say - an alias. Thaddeus Jones."

"Is that Heyes' alias?" enquired Brooker, hopefully.

Mr. Dawkins shook his head.

"No. I believe it to be the name used by his partner - Jedediah Curry."

"Kid Curry?" checked Brooker.

"Even he," affirmed Mr. Dawkins.

Henry Brooker frowned.

"You never told me!" he complained. Then, "Anyhow, why is that positive?"

"Because," smiled Mr. Dawkins, "When our man checked the register of the Stanwyck Hotel, he saw that the latest guest to sign in, was a 'Thaddeus Jones'."

"Kid Curry?" repeated Brooker.

A cautious man, Mr. Dawkins pursed his lips.

"It seems the most probable explanation."

"So…that means Heyes is here?" pressed Brooker.

"It makes it - probable."

"So…the man we met isn't Carl Grant - he's Heyes?"

A long beat. Mr. Dawkins was thinking.

"Possibly," he temporised. "Not proven," he repeated, with the same Scottish legal intonation.

"So…?" Henry Brooker shifted in his seat. He was getting lost. "I pay you well for confidential advice Dawkins! Advise me!"

The thin, grey figure of Mr. Dawkins smiled.

"Sir, am I right in thinking your primary objective is to have the security of the Pierce and Hamilton 1880, Guardian B …and by implication their new product … called into question amongst the cognoscenti in the banking world?" A nod from Brooker. "And, to effect this, you wish the safe in the Wells Fargo Building to be cracked?" Another nod. "In that case, Sir, I suggest you increase the incentive for Hannibal Heyes." Henry Brooker opened his mouth to object. Mr. Dawkins forestalled him. "NOT," continued Mr. Dawkins, "…with mere money. I suggest you think of something Heyes would want MORE than money." A beat. Henry Brooker still looked blank. Mr. Dawkins heaved a silent sigh. "Something important to him. Something, that if TAKEN AWAY," he stressed, "…he'd want RETURNED." Another beat. And another.

Inspiration struck Henry Brooker.

"I've had an idea, Dawkins!"

"Really, sir?" asked Mr. Dawkins with polite interest.

"You're going to hire someone to kidnap Kid Curry! And," triumphed Henry Brooker, "…I'll have Harry Briscoe informed that if his friend Hannibal Heyes wants to see his partner alive again - he had better get on with cracking the Wells Fargo safe!"

"Brilliant, Sir!" marvelled Mr. Dawkins.

"Then," continued Henry Brooker, "I'll hand the pair of them in for the bounty!" He took a deep, refreshing pull on his cigar. "What do you say to THAT, Dawkins?"

"Once again - brilliant, Sir!"

"In that case Dawkins, make it so!" commanded Henry Brooker.

"At the earliest opportunity, Sir," came Mr. Dawkins ever-civil tones.

"And Dawkins," grinned Brooker.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Muhaha, Dawkins!"

"Muhaha, Sir!"

---oooOOOooo---


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**the vault of the Merchants' National Bank T****hursday Night**

Heyes stared, disgruntled, at the safe confronting him. Admittedly her beauty, surely unequalled even by Helen on the ramparts, met his most demanding expectations. Silk smooth, her metal skin shimmered softly in the romantic glow of his safety lamps. Her handle, polished mirror-bright, beckoned. He saw his own eyes reflected back, their dark depths yearning in anticipation. His tapered fingers felt the familiar - itch, as an exquisitely curved dial whispered seductively, 'stroke me, Heyes - you know you want to'. The long-missed siren voice sang to him - 'let me open to you, beloved!' The only thing amiss with his inamorata was the flourishing paintwork gleaming in scarlet and gold on her front. She quite clearly boasted of being an "808", NOT the expected and pre-studied "606".

Still - Heyes comforted himself. This upgrade was bound to be a variation on a theme and, he checked his watch, he did have time.

"Now gorgeous," he murmured, snuggling up close and tenderly taking the dial, "…let's be gentle with each other. I'd hate to use the nitro on a real lady like you." Time stood still as Heyes felt the infinitesimal tremors and heard the tiny sounds indicating the safe would yield up her secrets to his masterly touch.

Some hours later - though it seemed a flash to the absorbed Heyes - the ex-outlaw realised, not for the first time, the absolute reliance he placed on Kid acting as lookout. Because, suddenly the ex-safecracker... No. Let us use language with accuracy. The safe-cracker, became aware - he was not alone. He had no idea how long the aquiline featured young man, with eyes dark as his own, had stood watching. Whip-quick Heyes was on his feet, his gun drawn.

His eyes flicked to the door. He listened hard. Was this observer alone?

"Pardon me, Sir," came a surprisingly calm tone, "…are you Hannibal Heyes? I'm right am I not?" The young man took a pace forward. Heyes gestured with the gun, indicating his unwanted companion should stay back. The other man halted his advance, but did not halt his speech. "May I take this opportunity, Mr. Heyes, of saying I have studied - and admired - your work for years." A qualm crossed the dark eyes facing Heyes. "I disapprove too - naturally," the young man said tentatively. In a much more spontaneous burst of feeling, he carried on,

"But the reprehensible nature of your calling does not alter the consummate skill and ingenuity with which you carry it out." He beamed, "I am so - so delighted to finally meet you face to face!"

"Uh huh," grunted Heyes. "Drop your gun - real slow. Use your left hand - two fingers only. No need for anyone to get hurt."

"I don't own a gun," came the answer. Another pace forward, "Mr. Heyes," a boyish smile wreathed the lean intelligent face, "…would you allow me the very great pleasure of shaking your hand?"

Again Heyes' weapon waved him back.

"My hand's kinda busy at the moment," he said. "And - if you don't own a gun - what's that in your trouser pocket?" He considered adding, "…Please don't tell me you're THAT pleased to see me?" but decided not to lower the tone.

The younger man glanced down at the bulge indicated by Heyes.

"It's a drill. With a cobalt-vanadium alloy shaft and a special-purpose tungsten-carbide tip. I have a couple of alternative sized diamond grit bits too." He thought for a moment, "Oh - and a slide rule." Heyes blinked. The interloper smiled at Heyes, "I can put THEM on the floor using two fingers of my left hand if you like, Mr. Heyes. BUT - I feel it only fair to point out I am, in fact, ambidextrous."

"In that case - either hand'll do!" retorted Heyes. "Just - just keep it real slow!" As the young man complied, he added, "AND - stop callin' me Heyes!"

"Do you prefer Hannibal?"

"NO!" snapped Heyes. He looked at the objects on the floor. They were as reported, an extremely expensive looking drill and a slide rule. Heyes met the, frankly fascinated brown eyes, watching him. "Who the Sam Hill are you?" he demanded, "And - what are you doing here?"

"Jòzef Kowalski," said Jòzef, holding out his hand, before again dropping it as Heyes' hand was indeed - busy - at the moment. "I'm here to…"

A frown creased the ex-outlaw leader's brow. He interrupted, "That name rings a bell!" Jòzef opened his mouth, but Heyes shook his head, "Don't tell me! You're - you're…" A beat. A satisfied look of recall removed the frown. With a dimpled grin Heyes proclaimed, "You're the fella who designed near silent tumblers for the Pierce and Hamilton '78! Your name was on…"

"On the drawings held in the Patent Applications Office. AND - you saw them. Before you worked out the vacuum method of safe blowing?" Heyes just managed to prevent himself nodding. Jòzef smiled, "I am - extremely flattered - that you remember the name Mr…er…Sir."

"You - YOU designed that BEAST of a safe! I thought…!" Heyes stopped. Then, "Open your jacket so I can check you're telling the truth about not having a gun." Jòzef did. "And - the back waistband." Nothing. Heyes returned his own gun to its holster. "Mr. Kowalski. It would be an HONOUR to shake your hand." They shook hands. "Not that I'm admitting to being Hannibal Heyes you understand!"

"Oh - of course not…"

"But if, just hypothetically, I were that notorious outlaw - your safes would have been one of the reasons I went straight!"

"You - I mean HEYES - inspired me," enthused Jòzef, "At one time it seemed we were locked in a distant, faceless, but none the less symbiotic relationship…"

"Uh huh?"

"A battle of wits in which - the very limits of my ingenuity were stretched and challenged by - if I may so term it - my nemesis…"

"Uh huh?"

"What greater gift can an engineer wish for than an ever receding technical specification? The more one yearns and hungers towards the solution - the more the problems twists, turns - changes…"

"Uh huh?"

"Could a mere mechanical solution ever resolve the indescribably Gordian complexity - the labyrinthine convolutions of the - however culpable - still soaringly inventive mind, of my worthy adversary - Hannibal Heyes? Like Tantalus I was…"

"Er - Mr. Kowalski," interrupted Heyes. Sheesh! Was this how Kid sometimes felt when he was talking up a storm?

"Yes?"

"I get the gist."

Jòzef subsided. For a moment. Then he said, "Mr. …er… I mean, Sir?"

"You can call me Joshu…" Heyes stopped. He ran through the aliases of the past twenty-four hours. "You can't call ME anything!" he said, firmly. "No offence," he added, "'Hey, you' will do just fine."

"Er…" Jòzef gave a smile where he would have put a name, "Did you say Heyes has gone straight?"

"Uh huh," admitted Heyes. Almost immediately he changed this to, "That is - hypothetically - yes."

Jòzef's eyes drifted from the safe, to the carefully placed bottle of nitro at a distance, to the edge of a Bryant pump, peeping provocatively from Heyes' equipment bag. Heyes had to admit the man had an excuse for his unspoken scepticism.

"I'm not plannin' on stealin' anything!" he protested. "I just - want to OPEN it! Maybe - muss things up. Leave a calling card."

"Oh yes?" said Jòzef, with polite interest.

"A - a demonstration!" stated Heyes, firmly. He added, "AND - if you had a hand in this safe's design…?"

"I added a few features to the previous 606 model," admitted Jòzef, with a modest smile. "This particular unit is just on loan. Mr. Brooker thought a week's use prior to the exhibition might tempt the bank to buy."

"I hafta say," said Heyes, "…you're losin' your touch! This safe's a piece of cake compared to the Pierce & Hamilton '78!"

"Oh yes?" repeated Jòzef, still with polite interest. His eyes moved past Heyes.

Heyes bridled at the undeclared observation.

"You're thinkin' - it's still shut, huh?" Jòzef twitched an affirmative eyebrow. "Yeah, but I've only been workin' on it…" Heyes fished out his watch. His mouth fell open. He shut it firmly and shot a quick look at Jòzef, to see if he had given away his horror that over two hours had passed. "Well - the point is - it's not even silent. I can hear the tumblers clear as day. Cracking it is only a matter of time!" he finished.

"No you can't," said Jòzef, simply.

"Can't - what?" asked Heyes.

"Can't hear the tumblers."

"I think I know what tumblers sound like!" said an indignant Heyes.

"They are decoys. I designed it with audible decoy tumblers," said Jòzef, apologetically. "The five operational tumblers are, as far as the human ear is concerned, silent. But, as they move, they randomly adjust decoys, creating the illusion of progress towards identifying the first numbers in the combination."

Heyes slumped.

"You - you …" he braced his shoulders. "OK! I didn't want to have to do it this way - but…" He reached for the tin of quick dry putty.

"Er…" put in Jòzef, even more apologetically, "That won't work." Heyes looked at him. "I designed a double layer skin. The outer layer has a couple of vents - only fifteen microns wide - imperceptible to eye or touch. Enough to prevent the creation of a vacuum."

Heyes glowered at him.

"YOU'D know the placement though," his mind worked, "- I could seal the whole area…once you tell me…" He allowed his eyes to take on the dark, threatening look of the outlaw leader.

Jòzef smiled.

"Really! You underestimate how highly I think of - Mr. Heyes' - abilities!" Heyes blinked. "The vents are placed in fifty alternate locations and the vented sections allocated randomly to individual safes! Only AFTER allocation are tracking numbers assigned. So even we, the manufacturers, do NOT know the positioning. AND…" his chest swelled, with justifiable pride,

"…even if you seal all fifty positions the layering will mean only the outer skin will yield to the explosion. The inner skin will merely buckle inward." He gave a cheerful smile. "The field trials were most satisfactory!" He saw Heyes look downcast. "You - I mean Mr. Heyes - should be flattered. I only thought of this AFTER he came up with the vacuum idea!"

"You - you…" Heyes stopped. Once again, he decided not to lower the tone.

"It's my job," said Jòzef. "And, bear in mind, Hannibal Heyes is NOT supposed to get into these safes. That's rather the point."

Heyes, at bottom a fair man, had to admit, there WAS a lot of truth in there.

"Heyes COULD crack it!" Heyes declared. "It would only need - a plan! He COULD crack it!" A beat. "Eventually," he added.

"Eventually, sure!" soothed Jòzef. "Mind you," he mused, with simple pride, "…He never cracked the Pierce and Hamilton 1880, Guardian B."

"He went STRAIGHT!" insisted an indignant Heyes.

"Of course."

Heyes glowered at the conciliatory kindness of the young man.

"He DID!" He decided to change the subject - slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Jòzef had the grace to blush.

"I'm - I'm here to crack the safe." He met Heyes' eyes, "IF I can."

Heyes blinked.

"Why?"

Jòzef flushed still redder. A frown descended on his face.

"Don't you know?" he asked brusquely. Heyes shrugged. "Your partner…" said Jòzef. He stopped, he looked up, hopefully, "Unless you are no longer associated with that - that…" he drew breath, "…with Jedediah Curry!"

"Er…" hesitated Heyes. He was beginning to lose track. "Without admitting I'm … you know - HIM. Let's assume - hypothetically - Heyes does still see - that other fella!"

Jòzef, despite an ancestry devoid of Gallic blood managed a contemptuous sneer worthy of the maitre de of Chez Jules. "That lecherous, lascivious, libidinous, licentious, lewd, lubricous, lustful…" he searched, "…lawbreaker…" he located, "…has incurred my lasting enmity!"

"Uh huh?" said Heyes. "How?" he asked, with trepidation. The trepidation was raised not so much by Jòzef's scowl and sneer, as by the choice of descriptors. These suggested, not only a gift for alliterative allocation of adjoining adjectives, but also a matter of - delicacy.

"At BEST, he has - dallied - with the affections of a lady!" explained Jòzef, contempt dripping from his lips.

"Uh huh?" grunted Heyes, tentatively. He resisted an impulsive urge to leap to Kid's defence. He was not completely sure what Jòzef would consider encompassed in the verb - 'dally'. He had an uncomfortable feeling that Kid might be guilty of - dallying. After all, a lot of ladies seemed to welcome a certain level of - dalliance.

"At WORST, he has debauched an innocent young girl and means to profit by her - her disgrace." In a more normal matter of fact tone, Jòzef added, fairly, "The evidence is strong, but not completely conclusive. That is why I give a wide confidence interval of probabilities. In any case," the contempt returned, "I intend to rip him limb from limb and make him swallow himself!"

"Uh huh?" said Heyes. As long as the threat did not involve calling in the law, he did not feel the need to switch on the dangerous look. Jòzef appeared wiry and lithe enough, but Heyes was reasonably sure Kid would emerge with his limbs intact. "Er…Mr. Kowalski," he went on mildly, "…you do know what Kid Curry is famous for?"

"Certainly I do!" stated Jòzef. "But, surely a man cannot allow physical danger to turn him from

the requirement to - to protect a lady's good name?" Heyes decided to treat this as a rhetorical question. "Besides," sneered Jòzef, "…If he shoots an unarmed man - it'll prove what a worthless skunk he is! Cornflower blue eyes and enchanting smile! Tchah!!"

Heyes blinked at this sudden departure into physical description. He returned to his original question.

"Why does what's-his-name - er - dallying - make you want to crack a Brooker 808?"

"Because his ransom note states I will find the location where he is holding Al… - the lady - deposited in the safe in the Merchants' National Bank."

"Ransom note!" exclaimed Heyes. "No way is Kid Curry holdin' anyone - let alone a woman - to ransom."

Jòzef reached inside his jacket. Heyes reached, again, for his gun.

"Just - keep it slow," said Heyes.

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a ransom 'telegraph'," amended Jòzef, handing the document over for Heyes' scrutiny.

"What makes you think this is from Jed Curry?" asked Heyes, flipping to the second page for the sender's name. "It says - Harry De Juiced...Oh!"

"Exactly! It's an anagram!" confirmed Jòzef, "AND - a homonym with 'deduced'! Besides, halfway down page one he says 'three years ago he played an auxiliary but none the less vital role in a venture in Denver involving the breaching of a superbly engineered device not entirely unconnected with the family name' - he means the blowing of the Pierce and Hamilton '78'"

"Uh huh?" grunted Heyes, scanning through the rest. "He's a wordy fella, huh? I always heard Curry was kinda on the taciturn side. Do you really think that larcenous rogue wrote…'I will beguile the heart of your beloved, not only with my cornflower blue eyes and enchanting smile - but with the ineffable air of glamour and danger clinging to my every graceful action. As the rabbit is fascinated by the sinuous serpent - believe me - her maidenly innocence will be drawn to the golden rakish charm I exude'?

"Of course he didn't come up with the words!" snapped Jòzef. "Alice WROTE it! It sounds just like her!"

Heyes blinked. "Alice…?"

Jòzef flushed again.

"I shouldn't have said that. One does not bandy a lady's name. But - even though I can see this is a ploy by…" he paused, "Well - since I've said it once already. I can see this is a ploy by Alice to - to goad me into…THAT is beside the point! That doesn't excuse Curry for - for playing along. She is so sweet and guileless - she doesn't realise the risks of … Curry might not recognise that despite what she says, she is as innocent as …"

"As … 'one's whose lissom and exquisite curves would cause any man's blood to surge, as insurmountable passion shakes his being'?" suggested Heyes, reading aloud.

"She doesn't know what she's saying," snapped Jòzef. He took a calming breath. "I have a practical suggestion…"

"Uh huh?"

"You want to crack this safe. I want to crack this safe. Let's pool our resources and argue about the culpability of Kid Curry after it's open."

Heyes thought for a moment.

"Suits me," he said. "Any ideas?" His eye fell on the drill, "I take it this being made of - er…"

"Cobalt-vanadium alloy," supplied Jòzef.

"Is capable of breaching a drill point?"

"Theoretically - yes," temporised Jòzef. "It'd take a while. Maybe longer than we have."

"AND - we'd need a manufacturer's drill point diagram to stand a chance," sighed Heyes. A smug look settled on Jòzef's face. "So…" continued Heyes, smoothly, "…it's just as well you brought one along, huh?"

"That's only a back-up!" smiled Jòzef. "You remember I told you the operational tumblers randomly adjust the audible decoys?"

"Uh huh?"

"That was not ENTIRELY true. The adjustment would APPEAR random. But given a set of blueprints showing the exact interaction between the serrations…"

"Which I take it we have?" checked Heyes.

Jòzef grinned. "A set of log tables. A slide rule…

"Uh huh!" smiled Heyes.

"What has been described as a virtuoso faculty for working out mathematical algorithms!"

"Too kind," blushed Heyes.

"I meant me!" deflated Jòzef. "AND - a gift for dial manipulation, the ears of a lynx and a touch worthy of a miniaturist." A beat. "That one was for you," he clarified.

"Too kind," blushed Heyes. "By the way," he added, settling back down before the dial, " - how did you break into the building?"

"I didn't!" smiled Jòzef, unfolding the blueprints and taking out a sharp pencil to begin calculations, "I did what I guess you did. I walked in openly before closing time - and hid in a fiendishly cunning spot, so ingenious it would never be suspected."

"Uh huh? Which one?"

"Are you going to tell me yours?" asked Jòzef.

"If I did - you'd never believe it!"

---oooOOOooo---

**THE SLIGHTLY SHADIER SIDE OF TOWN - SAN FRANCISCO **

A few hours before dawn two slim, dark haired figures might have been seen scaling the back wall of a substantial looking house not a million miles from Montgomery Avenue. They MIGHT have been seen. But, they were not.

By supreme good fortune - well, supreme good fortune aided by comprehensive instructions left by the detail conscious Mrs. Theodore Pierce - they climbed, one at a time, into the room where Kid Curry was held captive.

Jòzef was first.

Kid awoke from a refreshing sleep on the excellently sprung bed, to which one arm was tethered. He was halfway through a startled, "Who the Sam Hill are you…?" to the young man glowering at him, while turning up the gaslight, when he changed this to a delighted, "Heye…I mean, Hey, Joshua!"

"You viper!" snarled Jòzef. "You… reptile. You serpent…Where's Alice?"

"Huh? Oh - her!" grunted Kid, still foggy with sleep. "An' who are you callin' a reptile?"

"Where's Alice?" repeated Jòzef.

The question was answered by the diminutive - but none the less lissom and luscious - ethereal, golden one bouncing through the connecting door. She was cocooned in a silk dressing gown a shade too big and more than a shade too long.

"Jòzef!" she squeaked, her lovely face lit by a smile so radiant that even the unsusceptible Heyes had a momentary urge to utter 'Wow!' "Jòzef…I KNEW you'd rescue me from a fate worse than death!" She forestalled his immediate answer by launching herself into his arms.

It would have been both ungentlemanly and ungrateful to refuse to return the embrace. Jòzef was neither.

"But," protested a suddenly coy Alice, pushing her true love away, "I have to tell you - you have a rival!" She lifted her chin and threw out her arm in a dramatic gesture towards the bed. "The notorious - but undeniably handsome - outlaw Kid Curry has fallen violently, passionately, avidly in love with me!"

"No I ain't!" protested Kid.

"Ignore his denials!" insisted Alice, her voice ringing out with the conviction of a Sarah Bernhardt. "He is simply too shy to admit the ardent, insurmountable fervour surging through his veins, as my beauty enflames his senses! He wishes to marry me - so I will be his forever - immediately!" Fixing Jòzef with a meaning look, she added, in case he was missing the crux,

"You understand - Kid Curry wants to marry me NOW! NOT in a hundred years time when I turn twenty-one!"

"I don't!" yelped Kid. He was not sure what was happening, but on that point - he was clear.

Jòzef glowered contemptuously at Kid, "That - that blackguard hasn't laid his foul hands on you, has he?"

"Hey!" protested Kid, indignantly. He saw no particular reason for this complete stranger to keep subjecting him to random insults. He also saw no reason for Heyes to push back his hat, lean against the wall, fold his arms and take on all the appearance of an interested spectator about to enjoy a good show.

"Betrayer! Oh - the fickleness of men!" Alice berated Kid, histrionically. She turned away, wiping a non-existent tear. "I - I am ruined!" she went on, in a tremulous little voice which would have wrung pity from Herod. Her limpid blue eyes gazed from Jòzef to Heyes, beseeching their sympathy. Their dewy azure depths would have wrung pity from a man whom Herod refused to invite to dinner parties on the grounds of excessive cruelty and callousness. "And," continued our wronged and persecuted heroine, pointing at the bed, "…it's all HIS fault!"

Meeting his partner's outraged eyes, Heyes clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"I didn't ruin no one!" protested Kid.

"Despite having robbed me of my most precious possession - my reputation," continued the plaintive tone, "…You heard he has no intention of offering to marry me!"

"That bit's true!" agreed Kid. "I'd rather marry a - a reptile!"

"Oh - who will come to my aid? Who will protect me?" wondered Alice, still in a tone fit to melt the stoniest heart. However, her eyes began to lose some of the appealing softness in favour of dangerous glitter, as they flicked from Jòzef to Kid

Jòzef did not see this at once. His attention was caught by an angry discolouration on the white arm emerging from the silk sleeve to clutch his own.

"She is bruised!" he exclaimed. "You brute!"

"I never laid a finger on her!" objected Kid. Struggling to sit up, while clutching his slippery satin sheets one-handed to cover his dignity, he added, "IF she's bruised, it's where I fended her off with a ten foot pole! 'And - and," he glowered at Alice, "…even that'd be too close! You couldn't pay me to touch HER!"

Looking at the vision of loveliness darting blue fire at Kid, Heyes thought his partner did protest too much.

"Don't believe a WORD he says! He DID lay hands upon me!" Alice continued, a triumphant look on her face, as she confronted her rescuer of yesterday.

"I…" started Kid.

"He plied me with drink!" declared Alice!

"Yeah - but…" attempted Kid.

"Then we stayed the night together in the Hotel Del Monte!"

"Yeah - but…"

"Under false names!"

"But…"

"He tried to kiss me!"

"Yeah - but…"

"He undid my dress…"

"But…"

"Next day - he wrestled me to the floor!"

"Huh? Oh - yeah, but…"

"He - he had me strip off my clothes!"

"Yeah… but…"

"I was subjected to a filthy ordeal!"

"Huh? Oh - that…"

"When I arrived here my underwear was in such a state nothing was salvageable!"

"But…"

"You can't deny any of that, can you?" challenged an exultant Alice

Kid met first his partner's amused, then Jòzef's blazing eyes.

"No!" he admitted, "But - but she's twistin' it to sound bad! She's makin' it sound as if … as if …"

"She sure is!" agreed Heyes. He shook his head sadly. Again the tongue clicked in disapproval.

"Stand up like a man!" ordered Jòzef.

"Huh?" said the beleaguered Kid.

"Jòzef here…" began Heyes. "…intends to rip you limb from limb and make you swallow yourself!" He checked over with his new friend, "That's right, huh?"

"For starters," confirmed Jòzef.

Alice bounced on her toes. Her hands clapped approval. Her glorious eyes sparkled in innocent, girlish anticipation.

"And," continued Heyes, "…I guess he wants you on your feet before he tries to flatten you. It's kinda - traditional."

"Stand up!" repeated Jòzef.

"SHE'S got me cuffed to the headboard here!" protested Kid! He tugged at his right wrist setting the brass frame of the bed rattling. "It's kinda restrictin' me in the standin' up an' throwin' punches department! Besides - no way am I fightin' over HER. YOU want her? YOU take her! Good riddance!"

"Not exactly chivalrous, is he?" remarked Heyes, conversationally to Jòzef, as he walked over to the bed. "Still - he does have a point on the standin' up to fight like a man." Heyes peered, with mild interest, at the handcuffs. "Lined with padded silk velvet," he remarked, "Nice an' comfortable, huh? Kinda - specialised. Lock looks simple enough, though."

"Never mind admirin' 'em!" glowered Kid at his partner. "Get the key off that…that…HER - an' undo me!" He met Heyes' eyes, "Else, just undo me without it - Joshua!"

"DO you have the key, Alice?" asked Jòzef, suspiciously, his anger against Kid abating, as evidence of who was the real victim here, gathered force. She reached into a pocket and dangled a ring holding a brightly polished key. A taunting look was thrown at Kid. "Hand it over," said Jòzef, sternly. She set her lips, shook her head stubbornly. He advanced on her, purposefully. Alice pulled forward her wrappings and dropped the key - strategically - down her front.

"You'll have to wrest it from me by force!" she declared in ringing tones. Defiant, ringing tones. Perhaps - defiant and hopeful ringing tones.

Jòzef halted. He glared at his beloved. "You!" he exclaimed, the words accompanied by an accusatory, pointing index finger, "…as soon as this is over, YOU are in big trouble!"

Alice pouted and shrugged a 'don't care' shoulder. Jòzef again advanced toward her. Now, there was no 'perhaps' about it. The expression on her face was definitely hopeful as he reached out a hand… She closed her eyes in anticipation and slightly thrust forward her bosom, as his hand drew nearer. Then…

"OW!" protested Alice. A hairpin was whipped from her curls, still attached to a couple of golden strands.

She opened her eyes, chagrin sweeping across her lovely visage as she saw Jòzef now back over by Kid and about to apply the business end of the hairpin to the lock.

Jòzef met Heyes eyes.

"How long would this take you?"

Heyes shrugged.

"It's nothin' fancy. Say…eight, nine, seconds."

"Time me!" requested Jòzef, boyishly.

The cuffs clicked open. Kid rubbed his - completely uninjured - wrist. He blinked at Jòzef.

"About ten seconds!" said Heyes. "Not bad." He turned his attention to Kid. A beat. "What are you waitin' for?" he asked. "On your feet. Get flattened!"

"I'm…" Kid flushed and jerked his head to bring his partner closer, "I'm kinda nekkid under here."

"Wanted to make the most of the feel of these fancy satin sheets, huh?" said Heyes, deadpan.

"SHE stole my clothes! Said it cut down the chances of me makin' an escape!"

Heyes looked at the dainty, silk wrapped figure still fuming over the failure of her key-hiding ruse.

"Overpowered you, huh?"

Kid bridled.

"Not just her! There were four of 'em altogether!"

"All girls?"

"Well - yeah!" admitted Kid.

"All as easy on the eye?"

"Well…all lookers, sure," confirmed Kid, with an involuntary, wistful grin.

"You've really been sufferin', huh?"

"They - they spiked my drink!" protested Kid.

"Of course," soothed Heyes.

"Alice!" said Jòzef, severely, "No more games! Did you drug Mr. Curry and steal his clothes?"

The slender, elfin one met his eyes. She opened her mouth - shut it again.

"You see…"

"Yes or no, Alice!" demanded Jòzef.

"Er…it was…"

"Yes or no!" he repeated, firmly.

She hung her head. She looked up, from under honey coloured lashes. She fluttered them appealingly. She allowed her upper lip to lift in a look of entreaty that would persuade a hungry tiger to hand over his prey.

"Yes or no!" came the unmoved challenge.

A small foot emerged from the overlong robe. Its rosy toes drew a small semi-circle. A lily white, well turned ankle - turned. No effect. Well, no effect on Jòzef. She had the riveted attention of at least one ex-outlaw, but that was of no interest whatsoever to Alice. She sighed.

"Yes," came a very small and chastened voice.

"Mr. Curry," said Jòzef, "…There appears to be a greater than 99 probability I owe you an apology. Will you accept it?"

"Er…sure," said Kid. Anyone who could chasten Alice was fine by him.

"YOU!" Jòzef turned to Alice, taking her firmly by one elbow, "…Come with me!" He led her, head still hanging, through the connecting door.

"I'm sorry, Jòzef," came a docile little whisper, before the pair disappeared.

Kid stared at the retreat of a meek and mild Alice, in disbelief. He turned to his partner.

"Who the Sam Hill is he?"

"Name's Kowalski," said Heyes. "If I ever finally get rid of you Kid AND, if I return to crime - think I've found me a new partner. You'll never guess what he does for a living."

Kid was still stunned by the transformation wrought on Alice.

"Lion tamer?" he hazarded. Another thought occurred, "He's callin' me Curry!" He shot an accusatory look at Heyes. "You DIDN'T tell him?"

"Course not!" came the offended reply. "YOU sent him a telegram tellin' him everything about you and that utter peach you seem to have spent yesterday wrestlin' with." A beat. "Wrestlin' with and - losin'."

"I never sent no…" Light dawned. Kid scowled afresh at the recently closed door. "That - that…"

"Something else you need to know, Kid," said Heyes, "In fact, a coupla things."

"Uh huh?"

"I'm now Thaddeus Jones," his partner told him, flatly, "So, you'd better be Joshua Smith!"

"Why the Sam Hill…?"

"Because," continued Heyes, drowning out the protest, "Alice's stepmother decided I needed a new alias."

"HER stepmother. Who the Sam Hill is…?"

"Alice's stepmother," went on the ex-outlaw leader, still not allowing Kid to finish, "…happens to be an old, old friend."

Once again, Kid's cheeks reddened, as Heyes explained. Heyes gathered from the 'Harry De Juiced' telegram that the 'Alice' so easily besting his partner was either a 'Hamilton', or a 'Pierce'. So, the brains, once again, bringing Kid Curry to captivity almost certainly belonged to a titian haired beauty named, 'Grace'.

…oooOOOooo…

Less than two minutes later, a subdued Alice was led back into the room. She strode over, purposefully, to Kid. A pile of neatly ironed clothes, topped with a brown hat and gun belt, was in her hands

"Thaddeus…" she began.

"Joshua," corrected Heyes, deadpan.

"Er - whatever," decided Alice. "I sincerely and unreservedly beg your pardon. My entire behaviour towards you has been reprehensible, blameworthy and completely unfitted to a lady. By contrast, Jòzef says, you have acted like a perfect gentleman," she gave a sniff, "…although in MY opinion gentlemen do not grunt over the breakfast table, nor scan hotel bills line by line as though…"

Jòzef cleared his throat warningly.

"…you have acted like a perfect gentleman throughout," recapped Alice, meekly. In a more spontaneous burst of feeling, she added, "Actually, you were really sweet - and I'm sorry for tricking you. Although," she went on without a breath, "…you made it so easy it's a good thing most bounty hunters are men! Otherwise, you'd have been caught years ago!" Kid avoided his partner's eye, he flushed. He remembered who Alice's stepmother was. He flushed some more. A beat. "I'm sorry," she summarised. "Here are your clothes back and the money I owe you is …er…"

Jòzef placed a thin pile of notes on top of the clothes.

"It's short!" said Alice, apologetically. "It only just about covers my hotel bill and the telegrams. Jòzef will make the rest up next week when he gets paid. He hasn't got enough on him for my dinner at Chez Jules and all that Krug and I NEVER have anything left out of my allowance."

Taking the pile of clothes, one handed - still modestly clutching his sheet, Kid felt his cheeks again redden.

"Sheesh - Alice. There's no need for that," he protested. "I asked you out to dinner. I don't expect payin' back."

"You can go now," she said, kindly. "The safe in the Merchants' National Bank has been cracked, that's all I wanted." A beat. "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

"Not with you gawpin' at me - no!" declared Kid.

"Pfffttt!" Alice scoffed, turning her back. "You wish!"

---oooOOOooo---


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**HENRY BROOKER'S HOME – Breakfast time. Friday**

"Who can that be at this hour?" complained Mrs. Brooker, as an urgent knocking disturbed the quiet of her breakfast parlour.

The butler entered.

"Mr. Dawkins would like to see you, Sir," came the imperious tones. "He is in the study."

"Henry!" came a disgruntled and distinctly shrill spousal voice. "…You know I don't approve of business being brought home!"

"No dear," acknowledged the powerful financier, whose glare made his staff cower in their well-shined boots.

"It is not what I am used to…"

"No dear," concurred he to whom she had vowed obedience.

"It is NOT what one expects in a gentleman's household …"

"No dear."

"Mama would not countenance such an interruption in HER breakfast parlour…"

"No dear." The head of the household moved to the door. "I think, dear, I should…"

"Henry! A gentleman does NOT leave the room when a lady is speaking…!"

"No dear."

"I have not finished all I have to say…"

"No dear."

"Pray remind Mr. Dawkins," Henry Brooker's helpmeet frowned, "…ONCE AGAIN… he should confine business to the office…"

"My dear," ventured he whose commanding 'yeah' or 'nay' could crush other men's hopes "I'm sure it's urgen…"

"Do NOT interrupt me Henry Brooker!"

"No dear," subsided he who held rightful sway.

"IF I may be allowed to speak in my own home…?"

Her lord and master nodded, caught in a basilisk stare.

"Pray tell Mr. Dawkins – I would consider it a courtesy if he would remember a man's home is a refuge from the stresses and strains of business! A haven where a man can relax in the domestic bliss provided by his wife – the angel of his hearth."

"Yes, dear. I will dear," agreed the grateful recipient of domestic bliss.

"Well…?"

"Well what, dear?"

"Why are you standing there, Henry? Since Mr. Dawkins has seen fit to disturb us – the least you can do is have the common civility not to keep him waiting!" Henry Brooker took another step toward the door. "AND…" continued she whose price was above rubies, "…have the goodness to remember Mama arrives today for a week's visit…" Henry Brooker tried to stop his shoulders drooping. He failed. "…So pray do me the courtesy of being home early to greet her. You know Mama will have something to say about it otherwise!"

"Yes dear. I know that," he sighed, truthfully.

"Well…?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Don't stand there! Off you go!"

"Of course, dear." Given permission to leave, Henry Brooker stood not upon the order of his going – but went at once.

"Dawkins!" he thundered, entering the study. "What are you doing here? You know my wi…I mean … You know I don't like business visits at home!"

"Pray convey my apologies to Mrs. Brooker…" began Mr. Dawkins.

"Mrs. Brooker is not the issue, Dawkins!"

"No, Sir!"

"I am not one of these men who kowtows to his wife – nor to her mother, Dawkins!"

"Perish the thought, Sir!"

"I…"

"Sir," interrupted Mr. Dawkins, "…I thought I should inform you at once. Last night, the Brooker 808 in the Merchant's National Bank was broken into…"

"No!" exploded Brooker. "We haven't even sold one of the dang things yet!" He gnawed his lower lip. "Was much taken?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Dawkins.

"Nothing?!"

"Nothing," confirmed his secretary. "And the safe was found closed – apparently untouched!"

"Then how…?"

"The contents were neatly stacked – beside it," came Mr. Dawkins dry tones. He was unable to keep a certain admiration out of his voice, as he added, "Propped against them was a letter. It read 'You might like to put these somewhere – safe!' and was signed, 'A well-wisher'." Mr. Dawkins shook his head slowly, "The Chairman of the bank was NOT amused, Sir! He is already threatening to divert all future business to Pierce and Hamilton…"

"That sneaky …!"

"Quite, Sir!"

"You think Briscoe and Grant have double crossed me? Induced by that – that snake in the grass, Theodore Pierce?" fumed Henry Brooker.

"Any alternative explanations seems beyond co-incidence, Sir!" opined the secretary.

"If Theodore Pierce thinks he can make a fool of Henry Brooker," glowered the object of the sentence, "…he's got another thing coming! So have Briscoe and Grant…and Hannibal Heyes …" Brooker frowned, "You think it WAS Heyes?"

"I do, Sir," confirmed Mr. Dawkins. He coughed, "I have already set in motion the plan we discussed yesterday. As we speak, the trap is springing on the gentleman calling himself Thaddeus Jones!"

"Good!" approved Brooker. "…If Hannibal Heyes wants to see his partner in one piece again, he'll have to show up the Pierce and Hamilton 1880, Guardian B, for the piece of junk it is!"

"I have NOT, of course, informed the lowlifes hired to apprehend and hold Jones, of his true identity," assured Mr. Dawkins. "I would not want them tempted by the reward offered on Kid Curry!"

"Certainly not!" approved Henry Brooker. "I don't plan sharing that!" A significant cough from his secretary caused him to add, "…Except for your percentage, obviously, Dawkins."

"Too kind, Sir!"

"Not at all, Dawkins! The labourer is worthy of his hire!" said Brooker.

"Indubitably, Sir!" As he left, the thin-faced secretary added, under his breath, "…Especially when the labourer knows where the bodies are buried!"

---oooOOOooo---

**THE STANWYCK HOTEL – As Mr. Dawkins speaks**

A shadow fell across the snowy tablecloth. Kid looked up, from an excellent breakfast, at the aquiline features of Jòzef Kowalski.

"Er…hello," he ventured.

"Mr. …" Although Kid was the last breakfast patron and the waiter had many years since lost interest in listening to customers' conversation, Jòzef remembered the need to be discrete. "Your friend," he began, meaningfully, "…suggested I join him for breakfast."

"Uh huh?"

"He's keen to see the Exhibition of Innovation," explained Jòzef. "Today's a Trade Day, but I have a pass. We can study the stands at leisure. He's particularly interested in the Eastman Dry Plate Company…they are revolutionising photography!"

Kid blinked. The topic held no particular charm for him, but you never knew with Heyes. "He's not down yet," he said, "…The pair of you had kinda a busy night, huh? I reckon he's sleeping in." With one booted foot, he pushed back a chair. "Pour yourself some coffee," he offered.

"I've a friend working for George Eastman, over here for the exhibition," went on Jòzef, conversationally, taking Kid at his word and helping himself to coffee, "…and I was telling Mr…our mutual friend … about their progress."

"Uh huh?" grunted Kid, returning his attention to breakfast.

"With a reliable dry plate," enthused Jòzef, "… you can make cameras small enough to be hand-held, or even concealed. They are even showing some disguised as pocket watches …and hats!"

Kid's expression showed mild interest.

"What my friend, Tom, has been working on is the mechanical shutter device." Kid's mild interest faded. He applied himself to his ham. "You see, there's no point concealing a camera if you have to use a manual shutter. It has to be automated." Jòzef cast a look at the door, clearly hoping the like-minded Heyes would appear. However, as the Engineer was the soul of courtesy and his companion was clearly not interested in the topic, he tried a variation.

"I'm looking forward to more discussion on safes. Your friend had a lot to say on the necessity of hinge side bolting."

Kid smiled, tolerantly. He did not grudge Heyes the treat of exchanging mind-numbing minutiae with a fellow enthusiast. Besides, he had a soft spot for the man who reduced the un-squashable Alice to a model of meek maidenhood.

"It must have been marvellous for you?" enthused Jòzef, boyishly, "…Before you gave up the…" he mouthed, silently, "…bank robbing." A return to speech with volume. "…Over the years. Working with such a – such a virtuoso!"

"Uh huh?"

"Not that I approve of your past line of work."

"Uh huh?" grunted Kid. Fair enough.

"Still, to work with a – a maestro of the subtle arts of…"

"Jòzef," interrupted Kid. "Do me a favour, huh?"

"What?"

"Don't say this stuff in front of him!" Kid grinned, ruefully, "I reckon he already knows how good he is! No need to rub it in!" He looked at the clock. "How come you're free to join him droolin' over hinges an' camera shutters? Don't you have safes to foolproof?"

"No!" said Jòzef, a frown descending on his earnest brow. "When I heard Mr. Brooker planned to double cross Mr. …our mutual friend … I handed in my notice first thing this morning. I can't work for a man like that! An upright citizen may have a duty to assist the law in the apprehension of criminals. But to do so for – for filthy lucre! Profiting by another man's loss of liberty! And, after giving one's word! Tchah!" scorned Jòzef.

Kid shifted in his seat.

"You're not feeling upright, are you?" he checked.

"Not if you've …" Again Jòzef switched on his mute button, "…gone straight…" Volume on, "…Anyone can change! Our mutual friend resisted the temptation to pocket so much as a few dollars last night."

"Did it hurt?" queried Kid.

"He did – linger - over the currency," admitted Jòzef. "I believe he found the aroma – evocative."

A smothered cuss, issuing from the reception area, made both men look up. Kid caught the eye of Harry Briscoe, the source of the smothered cuss. After a start of surprise, not to say astonishment, from Harry at seeing Kid Curry apparently materialise in a San Francisco dining room, a worried figure scurried across the otherwise deserted floor.

"Jo…I mean Smith!" exclaimed Harry, "You're here!"

"Looks like it, huh?" grinned a cheerful Kid. A good breakfast went a long way to soothing down any remaining annoyance over yesterday's – not particularly unpleasant - captivity. "You're getting us mixed up again, Harry. I'm Jone…" Kid remembered. He frowned. "Sorry, Harry," he apologised. "My mistake. I'm Smith." He nodded at Jòzef, who Harry was regarding with a curious and apprehensive eye. "This is Mr. Kowalski. He's kinda a friend of a friend, if you catch my drift. He knows who I am." Kid grinned again, "Which … is more than I'm real sure of, right now! Jòzef, this is Harry Briscoe."

Harry gave a tight, brief smile to the dark haired young man beside Kid, but returned at once to his most recent concern.

"I've…" Always generous, Harry decided to share, "…WE'VE got a big problem!" He sat down at Kid's table. "You've noticed Hey…I mean Smi… I mean the other fella isn't down?"

"I was just tellin' Jòzef here, he had a busy night," said Kid.

"He did it?" checked a momentarily diverted Harry. "Really?"

"You shoulda had faith, Harry," responded Kid, not without pride.

"You shoulda told me!" complained the Bannerman.

"Nah!" smiled Kid. "You were sleepin' like a baby when we got back, Harry. We hadn't the heart!" Emphasising the pronoun, he asked, "What's YOUR problem, Harry?"

"OUR problem is …the other fella isn't sleepin' in!" trying to keep his voice low, despite his obvious agitation. "He's…" Harry faltered. "Here!" he said, thrusting a note at Kid, "…This was handed to me just now.

Kid read.

'We have 'Thaddeus Jones'. If HH wants him he'd better come fetch him. He'll find the location deposited in the Wells Fargo safe, in a package labelled 'Briscoe'. Hurry. Or 'Thaddeus Jones' will regret it for the next twenty years. We are not KIDDING.'

Harry hissed in Kid's ear.

"He's not in his room! He didn't answer when I knocked! They – I mean fellas working for Henry Brooker…" he paused. "Did he fill you in, er…Smith? On Brooker an' Pierce an' Mrs. Pierce?"

"He gave me the gist," said Kid, frowning as he re-read the note. "Are you tryin' to tell me…?"

"We know Brooker's a snake," hissed Harry, "…An', he's a snake who's not as smart as he thinks he is! This, in my book, makes him more dangerous – not less. He musta wanted to give Heyes an extra incentive to crack the Pierce an' Hamilton safe. So he kidnaps you… I mean…"

By now, Kid was striding out of the dining room towards the stairs. Heyes could be safe and sound in his room. Just not feeling like disturbing himself for Harry! No need to panic!

Kid knocked on Heyes' door.

"Thaddeus," he called, "…Thaddeus!" Nothing. He moved his shoulder to the door. A touch on his arm prevented him.

"Allow me," offered Jòzef. He drew a penknife from his jacket and a – now slightly bent – hairpin, from his breast pocket. Harry Briscoe gasped as the door clicked open.

Ignoring him, Kid strode into the room. He saw at once there was, after all, need to panic. Open window. Mussed up bed. A faint whiff of chloroform. No Heyes. The silver trimmed hat and his gun belt, left behind, showed he had not left of his own accord. Kid did not - panic. But his eyes took on a dangerous glitter.

"You're tellin' me, Harry, that because of this dang fool scheme of yours, Heyes is being held hostage…"

"Well, not exactly!" interrupted Harry. "As far as Brooker is concerned, KID CURRY is being held hostage – an' Heyes can have him back if he cracks the Wells Fargo safe…" Nervousness made Harry babble. "Could be worse. I mean, it's not as if Heyes won't figure a way to… Oh!"

"You've remembered, huh?" snapped Kid. "The fella they're expecting to crack this safe …and the other fella they're holding to make this first fella co-operate – are…" he exploded, "…BOTH THE SAME FELLA?"

Harry took a step back.

"No use getting excited, Kid!" he protested. "I'm sure you'll figure out somethin'. You watched Heyes do it often enough. How hard can crackin' a safe be?"

"How hard can it BE?" fumed Kid.

"How hard can it BE?" indignated Jòzef, in unison. "Cracking the Pierce and Hamilton 1880, Guardian B is a virtual impossibility! Even Mr. Heyes never cracked the Guardian B!"

"He went straight!" defended Kid, instinctively.

"Of course," came Jòzef's kind response, for the second time in twenty-four hours.

An idea struck Kid.

"Jòzef," he said, persuasively, "…You're at a loose end, huh? Havin' just walked outta your job on a point of principle?"

"Yes…" said Jòzef, apprehension dawning.

"You'd hate to see that snake Henry Brooker raking in the – what was it? Filthy lucre? From handing Heyes over to the law?"

"That's true," admitted Jòzef.

"Do you reckon there really is a package tellin' us where to find Heyes in this safe?"

"Oh, yes!" said Jòzef, "…Think of it logically. Brooker wouldn't want Heyes trapped at the Wells Fargo building. There's no way he could take the credit – and get the reward – without it coming out he'd bribed a Bannerman detective …" Harry hung his head. "…and used unethical competitive strategies against Pierce. He'll want Heyes to go to where Curry is held… probably somewhere in the Barbary Coast neighbourhood. When he has them both together…THEN he'll spring his trap."

Kid nodded.

"Can you crack the safe?" he asked.

"Probably not," admitted Jòzef. "But…modesty aside … I have a slim chance. You and Mr. Briscoe have a chance so infinitesimally small, most non-mathematicians would refer to it, erroneously, as 'zero'."

"Will you – try?"

Jòzef appeared to be thinking hard.

"Both my options seem ethically hazy," he admitted. "But, on balance of merits – I believe the morally right answer is 'yes'. I'll attempt it."

"Any ideas?" prompted Kid.

"I think I can get us into the vault easily enough," said Jòzef. "We could use some distraction upstairs to stop unexpected observers joining us." He frowned, deep in thought.

"Er…" hesitated Kid, "…Don't we both know a lady – in fact," he amended, "…Don't we both know two ladies who excel at being 'distracting'?"

Jòzef bridled.

"You're not suggesting we involve a sweet, innocent, trusting young girl and a respectable, upright, married woman in this?"

"No," said Kid, "I was thinking of Alice and Grace."

---oooOOOooo---

**MRS. THEODORE PIERCE'S WELL APPOINTED DRAWING ROOM**

"NO!" protested Kid Curry. As Theodore Pierce had instructed his servants not to admit Jòzef Kowalski, he was the one to call on Grace and Alice to request their 'distraction' skills. "No! Forget it, Alice!"

"Well, Alice," said Grace, raising one exquisitely arched eyebrow. "If YOU were in Mr. Curry's boots, requesting SUCH a favour from a lady, wouldn't you think you OWED her a tiny favour in return?"

"I did Alice a favour! Yesterday! And the day before!" pointed out Kid.

"It's only a tiny thing!" fluttered Alice.

"Joining in some charade to persuade your father we're in love…" ejaculated Kid, "Is NOT a tiny thing! It's a great big thing – and I'm NOT doing it!"

"Don't you see," glowed Alice, giving Kid the full effect of two beseeching eyes of cerulean blue, "…You are so appallingly ineligible …so impossibly inappropriate … so irreparably disreputable …so hugely, hideously, horrendously, horrifically, heinously…"

"Hey!" protested Kid.

"I know you want to persuade Mr. Curry, Alice, but no need to lay on the compliments TOO thick," smiled Grace.

"Compared to YOU," Alice cut to the chase, "…Daddy would have to agree Jòzef is a perfect match. He'd be so relieved I wasn't about to run off with a villainous, vicious, verminous…" Alice realised Grace might have a point on the best way of persuading men. She shut up and switched on a dazzling smile. "Please," she cooed, touching Kid's hand.

"NO!"

Alice switched off the smile and glowered dangerously.

"Do it! Or you'll be sorry!"

"What do you think Jòzef would say to this little plan?" asked Kid.

"If you mention one WORD to him…I'll, I'll…" Suddenly the fuming wildcat disappeared and Kid saw genuine distress on Alice's face. "Please don't say a word, Jed. He's already furious with me. But, I have to do something! I can't wait fourteen months! I just can't!"

"Alice!" protested Kid, embarrassed.

"Besides…suppose he met someone else! Hundreds of women out there must be desperate to get their hands on him! Throwing out lures! Trying to seduce him away!"

"Are we thinking of the same fella?" checked Kid. "On the lanky side. Likes to talk about math?"

"He's wonderful!" stated Alice, simply. "And, if I can't marry him soon – I shall…" her lip wobbled, "…I shall just …" Wobble, wobble, wobble. Sniff.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," wavered Kid. He shot an appeal for help at Grace.

"I'm sure Alice would play her part SO much better if she was – happy," urged Grace. She took Kid's hand. "I know you hate to see a woman upset, Jed!" A second pair of blue eyes appealed. "I remember how kind you were…"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" This time it was capitulation. "As long as we agree if your father goes mad and gives his consent – I leave on the first train for Bolivia!"

"Oh! Thank you, Jed!" beamed Alice, kissing his cheek. "I'll go slip into something more - distracting!"

"You look fine, Alice!" said Kid.

"Of course I do! But one has to consider – lingerie – and stockings!" explained Alice, as she bounced to the door. "If you want to keep eyes away from the door of a vault it pays to plan ahead!" She threw him a last – pitying – look, before whisking away. "How you ever made a successful bank robber is a mystery to me, Jed!"

Grace smiled at Kid.

"I will NOT ask for a return favour today," she said. A beat. "You can owe me one!"

"OWE you one! After you had me kidnapped! This is payback!"

"I paid you back already!"

"How?" asked Kid.

"I hired Mary and Sue to make you comfortable," Grace reminded him. Kid met her eyes. Various details of the – payback – danced across his mind. He flushed. "All square?" checked Grace. Kid, at bottom an honest man, nodded.

Kid glanced around at the lush surroundings.

"You've done well for yourself, Grace," he acknowledged. She accepted this with a gracious inclination of her head. Kid took an – appreciative – look at the beautiful woman before him. He leaned forward and took her hand. "It's good to see you again, Grace," he said, warmly. A nostalgic glow entered his eyes, "Do you ever remember our time together, Grace?" he asked – with an appealing boyish grin, "…The night before we reached Laredo?"

"How could I forget?" asked Grace, with a wistful smile.

"Do you remember how madly in love with you I fell?"

Grace wondered if what she was experiencing was 'déjà vu'.

"Before you go any further," she forestalled him, "The answer is 'no'. You can check with Heyes if you want the extended version."

"I wasn't going to ask!" protested an offended Kid.

"Oh!" said a slightly disconcerted Grace, "No offence?" A beat. "I hope that's down to scruples and not to any lack of 'distracting' qualities on my part. Do I need to follow Alice and change my stockings, to have a chance of keeping male attention away from the vault?"

Kid checked the silk clad ankles.

"Nope," he said. "They'll do the job just fine!"

---oooOOOooo---

**THE WELLS FARGO BUILDING **

"Mr. Herries, Sir," tapping politely, the silver haired Under Manager of the San Francisco Wells Fargo operations popped his head around his boss's door.

"Winterbourne!" blustered the much younger, but much more pompous Mr. Herries. "Can't you see I'm engaged with…" he gave what can only be described as a simper, "…with Mrs. Pierce? She has called for …" he preened, "…investment advice."

"I'm sorry," said the mild-mannered Mr. Winterbourne. "But, Mr. Kowalski is here from Hamilton & Pierce…" Suffice it to say, Jòzef's recent dismissal from one manufacturer following paternal wrath and short employment in the rival Brooker establishment was not exciting enough news to be the talk of the Wells and Fargo Building. "He wants to take measurements in the vault…to decide the best placement of…"

"I said – I'm busy!"

"Shall I send him away?"

Mr Herries looked at the – not unfamiliar – figure of Jòzef in the outer office. He presented the appearance of a man sent out on a routine and none too exciting job. Jòzef glanced up from his apparent absentminded extending and closing of a retractable tape measure. He gave a civil nod to Mr. Herries. Grace turned in her chair. She received the polite bow due to an employer's wife. She acknowledged this with a gracious, but admirably nonchalant smile and returned her attention to Mr. Herries.

"No! Just take him down!" Mr. Herries ordered.

"Strictly speaking, Sir," ventured the conscientious Mr. Winterbourne, "…according to our protocols two management grade staff should be present at the opening of the vault."

His boss hesitated.

"Oh! Must you go?" pouted Grace, at the would-be gallant Mr. Herries. "I was just beginning to understand debentures…" She fluttered, "You're SO clever, Mr. Herries! You explain things SO well!" A dove soft hand was laid on the manager's. "I'm usually so stupid about money! Theo can never make me understand things. Not the way you have, today!" Grace was not so crude as to use the cliché 'my husband doesn't understand me', with its implicit half promise of opportunities to come. If, however, Mr. Herries chose to interpret the admiring glances thrown from beneath the curling lashes in that way – well! A woman can hardly be blamed for what goes on in a man's mind. "I was hoping," cooed Grace, "…if I still had questions …we might discuss them over lunch?" She allowed eyes to glow with anticipation, before lowering her lids modestly. "But…" a waver of disappointment in the voice, "…if you're busy, Mr. Herries, I'll leave." The tiniest hint of a pout, "I know business has to come first." A – possibly frustrated – sigh. Another, meaning, look. "My husband's business takes up so much of HIS time."

Mr. Herries shifted in his seat and crossed his legs.

"I think we can waive protocol, Winterbourne," he said. "It's not as if we don't know Mr. Kowalski." He cleared his throat. "Close the door on your way out. Tell Powlett – I don't want to be disturbed."

---oooOOOooo---

"It's a pleasure to see you, Jòzef," smiled the fatherly Mr. Winterbourne, collecting his keys. "How's your family?"

"Fine, thank you, Sir. This is Mr. Smith," added Jòzef, casually, as they exited the office. The curly haired, apparently unarmed, young man in the regrettable blue suit touched his hat politely. He did his best to look meek. "He joined us recently."

"Are you on the Design side too, Mr. Smith?" asked the kindly old man, leading the way. Kid opened his mouth to confirm this. "Will I be listening to you and Jòzef arguing the relative merits of alternative tempering techniques," enquired Mr. Winterbourne, chattily. "Many are the discussions I've listened to between Jòzef and Mr. Collins. Are you a hot process supporter …?"

"No!" said Kid, quickly. "I'm not! I mean, I'm not on the design side!" He resisted the temptation to glance at the ethereally beautiful blonde – presumably wearing the finest of French silk stockings below her skirts - being served by a decidedly open-mouthed clerk at one of the counters.

"Mr. Smith's experience is more in the area of – bank security," explained Jòzef. "Mainly in the mid West."

"Really?" Mr. Winterbourne unfastened the centre bolt of the vault. He bent, stiffly, toward the lower fastening. "I hope you'll approve of our security arrangements, Mr. Smith. Oh!" A hand went to the small of his back. "…If I gave you the keys, would you be so kind? I'm not as supple as I used to be."

"No problem!" smiled Kid, opening bolts. "…So far, these security arrangements have my complete approval, Sir." Jòzef flashed a warning look. Kid's role was 'follow my lead – unless lovely, but naïve, Mr. Winterbourne gets suspicious'.

The three men entered the vault. The safe gleamed in the centre of the room.

"It's a Model Centurion A!" exclaimed Jòzef. Kid glanced at the suddenly crestfallen lean face.

Mr. Winterbourne looked at Jòzef in surprise.

"Of course it is! Mr. Pierce offered us a free trial a fortnight ago. Surely you remember?"

"That's what I said," recovered Jòzef. "It's the Model Centurion A. What a pleasure to see it in use!" Kid, used to the silver-tongued Heyes, could not call it a sterling deception. But, it was a brave effort and, it was enough to return Mr. Winterbourne to cheerful rambling.

"Mr. Collins explained the advantages of this new model very thoroughly." He smiled, "I have to say though, Jòzef, the Guardian B always seemed more than adequate to me! I'd be surprised if Mr. Herries upgrades…" he tailed off, as he watched the two young men.

Kid was itching for Jòzef to have a try at the safe, but the engineer had told him to display no interest in this initially. This sounded like something Heyes might say, so Kid played along. After all, Jòzef's working knowledge of the organisation and its staff had got them inside the vault in a delightfully civilised way. Now Kid held one end of a retractable tape measure, while Jòzef scribbled dimensions in a small notebook.

"Why are you measuring the floor?" asked Mr. Winterbourne. Kid stiffened. However, the enquiry was puzzled rather than suspicious.

"There's been talk of providing metal panels to reinforce the floor," said Jòzef, glancing up from his figures. This was not a lie. Jòzef had a problem lying. Admittedly, this 'talk' had taken place between himself and Kid half an hour ago. But, it had – 'been'. "The diagonal, if you would be so good, Mr. Smith," requested Jòzef, in a tone one degree removed from bored.

"Re-inforcing the floor?" Mr. Winterbourne gave a 'what will they think of next?' shrug.

"A precaution against tunnelling," explained Jòzef. "The alcove in the left wall, Mr. Smith. A potential weak spot. And – bear in mind that corner is definitely an obtuse angle!"

"Tunnelling?" said Mr. Winterbourne.

"Mr. Smith here has personal experience of a bank being tunnelled under!" replied Jòzef. Kid nodded, then returned to tape measure placement.

"Fancy!" said the old gentleman. A beat. Note making. It was not interesting to watch. "I admit, Mr. Smith, these days, I take more interest in my garden than advances in safe technology."

"How are your roses?" asked Jòzef, politely.

"Oh, well! That tea rose hybrid I was telling you about…"

---oooOOOooo—

"…the rambler only took a highly commended. I mean to take two cuttings and try one in horse…"

"I think that's all the measurements, Mr. Smith," said Jòzef.

"…and one in a bone based fertiliser…"

"A controlled experiment!" approved Jòzef. "Good thinking, Sir." With no change in the matter of fact tone, he added, "Could you open the safe for me, Mr. Winterbourne. I need to check the lubricating discs on the angled bolts."

The charming old gentleman moved to the dial.

"I believe there's nothing to beat horse manure. But, friends have received most respectable results from…" There was the first familiar click. Kid held his breath. Was he about to see a safe - lulled - open?

---oooOOOooo---

Meanwhile, in the main area of the bank, the security men on duty checked the clock. One sighed, reluctantly peeled his eyes off the feminine customer on which they had lingered and moved to conduct a regular routine inspection of the outer vault area. His colleague continued to – linger.

"Oh! Oh!" The – distractingly – pretty girl clumsily caught her foot in the hem of her skirt. She slipped on the polished tiles in front of the security man headed to the vault. Two small hands clutched at him. Too late. Despite his efforts to catch her, she tumbled to the floor in a flounce of muslin and froth of underlying lace.

"Are you alright, ma-am?" he asked, reaching to help her up.

"Are you alright, ma-am?" unisoned the clerk who had served her and been unable to take his eyes off the lissom one ever since. He scurried out from his pen.

"Are you alright, ma-am?" chimed in the second security man, striding over to assist in any blonde handling required.

"Oh! I feel so silly!" exclaimed Alice. The blue eyes moved apologetically from one admiring masculine face to the next. The honey coloured lashes lowered with a modest flutter. "You must all think me such a fool!" came a wavering little voice.

"No!"

"Not at all, ma-am!"

"No!" came three truthful male voices. 'Fool' was not top of their descriptors when looking at Alice prop herself on one elbow, with her skirts askew.

"Let's get you on your feet, ma-am," offered the first security man.

"Thank you…" fluted Alice, "Oh! OW!" She fell as heavily as one so elfin could against him.

"My – my ankle!" wavered the completely uninjured decoy. An appealing flutter – with just a hint of damp sparkle in the cornflower eyes. "I don't think I can put my foot to the floor!"

"If we get you to one of the appointment offices, ma-am," offered the young clerk, "You could be comfortable there. I could run for a doctor!"

"Oh, no!" demurred Alice. "No doctor! I hate to cause a fuss! Ow!" She indulged in a little more leaning of her fragrant softness against the unprotesting security man. "Perhaps…" the beseeching little voice could have earned Alice a standing ovation as 'tragic heroine' in any theatre in the land, "…perhaps I could sit in one of the offices for a while? Oh!" Another gentle pressing, "If you'd be so kind as to give me your arm?"

"I think we can do better than that, ma-am!" said Security Guard number two. Ignoring a furious glare from his colleague, he swept the damsel in distress up in his arms.

"Oh!" breathed Alice, with a modest – and distracting – flush, "…you're so strong!" Fluttering, "I'm not too heavy?"

"Can hardly feel you, ma-am!" he declared.

Alice snuggled closer to correct this lack of sensation on his part.

"Perhaps this gentleman," she fluttered, coyly at the disgruntled first Security Guard, "…would be so very, very kind as to bring my reticule?"

After a moment of masculine confusion, the guard robbed of the lissom blonde burden decided this could only refer to the ridiculously – or should that be reticulously – impractical, though highly decorative, bag still laying on the floor. He picked it up with a – well, the best word would be mushy – smile at Alice.

"And…" went on the ethereal one, with an enchanting lift of her lip in entreaty towards the smitten young clerk, "…this gentlemen could open the door?"

Youthful – and mushy – head nodding. No one raised the question whether three grown men were needed to settle one small girl in an armchair.

---oooOOOooo---

"…And some folk swear by – would you believe it – tea leaves, placed around the stem base…"

The dial of the Model Centurion A gave another enticing click. Kid decided he might have to tell Heyes they had done it the hard way all these years. Clearly getting someone talking about his roses and then slipping in a casual request WAS a viable alternative. The bony hand ceased to turn the dial. It dropped to Mr. Winterbourne's side, he turned. Kid froze.

"…Though, there might be something in it? After all, if tea refreshes us…could it refresh soil?"

Kid had to admire the way not a twitch of impatience crossed the young, bony face.

"Natural vegetable nutrients?" Jòzef mused. "…It's not an area I know much about, Sir. But, farmers rotate crops to put nutrients back in the earth. There could be something in tea that suits roses."

Mr. Winterbourne gave him a kind smile and returned his hand to the dial. Then, absentminded and adorably trusting as he was, it dawned on this delightful old gentleman what he was doing. He paused. Puzzlement furrowed the avuncular brow.

"Why do you need the safe open, Jòzef? If … you're here to measure up for floor reinforcements?"

Jòzef still gave off the signals of a man who found this question much less interesting than Mr. Winterbourne's horticultural hobby. His eyes scarcely rose from his notebook.

"Just taking a look at the new self lubricating carbon discs, Mr. Winterbourne. Killing two birds with one stone. I know they WILL perform better than the old bearing based components – just want to check the temperature of the vault isn't affecting them. I have heard that keeping the roots wrapped in hay during the colder …"

"You see…" worried Mr. Winterbourne, "…strictly speaking, there should definitely be more than one Wells and Fargo management grade employee present if the safe is to be opened. The rules are most clear."

"We can wait while you ask Mr. Herries to step down," said Jòzef, "…How engaged could he be with Mrs. Pierce?"

Nice, thought Kid. A bluff. It might work.

"Oh…" hesitated Mr. Winterbourne. "…I don't like to interrupt Mr. Herries when he asks not to be disturbed. He can be so…" He bit his lower lip. "He and Mrs. Pierce did seem very…" The two young men watched him dither, metaphorically crossing their fingers. They saw an idea strike the genial old banker. Their shoulders drooped. Not metaphorically. They actually drooped. "I could ask one of the Security Guards to pop down!" smiled Mr. Winterbourne. "It's not the letter of the rule – but it'd fulfil the spirit!" He glanced at his pocket watch. "I'm surprised one hasn't been on his round already!" Mr. Winterbourne made for the door. "Would you excuse me please, Mr. Smith?" he requested, civilly.

With the utmost reluctance, although it was digging into small of his back, Kid produced the gun tucked into his waistband below the Alice-condemned jacket.

"I'm real sorry, Mr. Winterbourne, " he said, truthfully, "…But we must insist you stay and open the safe."

---oooOOOooo---

"Perhaps …" a pity-inducing, brave cough worthy of Camille, from the armchair. Though, why a fake twisted ankle should affect the lungs, only a mind as convoluted as Alice's could explain. "…Perhaps I might have a glass of water?"

"Of course!" nodded the young clerk, eagerly.

"Or…" Alice forestalled his exit. Another heroically uncomplaining cough. "…Perhaps a cup of tea? Not that I want to be any trouble!"

"No trouble at all ma-am?" the besotted youngster assured her.

"Earl Grey," fluttered Alice. "…Please make sure the pot is china … Silver taints the flavour…"

"Earl Grey," nodded the clerk.

"Milk in last…I don't like it with lemon…"

"Uh huh?"

"Make sure the water boils for at least thirty seconds… Don't forget to warm the pot…"

"Warm the pot…" more nodding.

"And – a THIN porcelain cup please. THIN. No sugar…" An angelic smile. "…Daddy always says I'm sweet enough!"

"Reckon he's right there, ma-am," chipped in Security Guard one, still under the spell of the ethereal one.

"Oh!" Alice lowered her lids and flushed adorably, "…You mustn't!" Too kind!"

---oooOOOooo---

"It's not what you think, Mr. Winterbourne," said Jòzef.

"…We don't want to steal anything," agreed Kid, "…Only take a package we know is in there. It's real important."

Mr. Winterbourne's eyes were glued to the blond man holding the gun.

"We don't even have to TAKE the package," offered Jòzef. "We could just copy what's in it! Leave it behind. No one need ever know! You wouldn't get into any trouble …"

"Jòzef," reproached Mr. Winterbourne, "…how could you?" He glanced at Kid's face and gulped. "Is – is he going to shoot me?"

Kid reminded himself Heyes needed him and forced his voice to stay cold with an edge of danger.

"Open the safe – and, no one gets hurt, no one gets shot. Like Jòzef said, no need for anyone even to know."

Mr. Winterbourne clenched his hands and took a deep breath.

"No!" he said. "I will not betray my employers' trust." He shut his eyes and braced himself to be shot. Nothing. He opened one eye. The gun was still levelled. Kid was glowering. The glower was actually more frustration and uncomfortable guilt than 'menace', but Mr. Winterbourne did not know that. He gave a squeak of fright and shut his eyes again.

"You ARE only bluffing? Like we agreed?" checked Jòzef, anxious at the sudden air of danger emanating from the notorious gunslinger.

"Jòzef!" exploded Kid, as Mr. Winterbourne first frowned and then visibly relaxed opening his eyes. The ex-outlaw threw an exasperated look at the earnest engineer. "When this is over," he said, "…remind me to explain the rules of 'bluffing'! Not bleatin' 'we're only bluffing' …is one of 'em! Sheesh!"

"Sorry!" the sub-standard partner substitute hung his head.

---oooOOOooo---

"Can you see any swelling?" asked Alice, extending a silk clad ankle and hitching up her skirt a few inches between two sets of riveted eyes. A beat. "Well?"

"Huh? Oh – er – it's kinda hard to tell ma-am."

She stretched out a second silken limb.

"Does it look any different to this one?"

"Er…"

"Do you think…" innocent blue eyes sought wise masculine counsel, "…I should take off my stocking? Then you could see if there is any bruising."

"If you think that's best, ma-am," came one hopeful male voice.

"If one of you were to be so very, very kind as to fetch a bowl of water and a cloth… you could bathe it," suggested she who hated to cause trouble.

"Good idea," agreed Security Guard two, tearing his eyes away from the tiny flexing foot drawing graceful circles in the air. He considered stocking removal… He considered bathing… "I'll be right back!" he decided.

---oooOOOooo---

"How long is this likely to take?" fumed Kid, watching Jòzef alternately calculating hard and then drawing chalk lines on the sides of the safe. "What the Sam Hill are you doing anyhow?"

"I'm re-calculating placement of manufacturer's drill points from first principles AND from memory, since each model is carefully differentiated," said Jòzef, evenly. "I am doing this WITHOUT a diagram and working from the exterior rather than the interior of the safe. I happen to believe I am doing this at least four times more rapidly than any other man currently within the City limits could manage! However," he flashed a look at Kid. "If you want to give me the gun, I'll cover Mr. Winterbourne and you can have the log tables and slide rule – see if you can do any better?"

"Just… just hurry up!" said Kid.

---oooOOOooo---

"Oh!" gasped Alice, lowering her skirt, "I forgot to ask you to turn your back first! Am I not silly? What must you think?"

"Not at all, ma-am!" managed security man one, wiping the 'Wow!' off his face. "My fault!" he lied, chivalrously. He turned his back. "Carry on, ma-am." A beat. A gossamer fine something stroked sensuously over his hand so softly it just skimmed and stirred the fine hairs. He looked down to see a stocking; the top embroidered with tiny, if not exactly shrinking, violets.

"All done," cooed Alice. "You can look now!"

---oooOOOooo---

Kid watched the progress of the drill. Despite the cobalt-vanadium alloy shaft and a special-purpose tungsten-carbide tip, it was painfully slow.

"Jòzef," ventured Mr. Winterbourne, "…I know you're doing your best…but, how long is this likely to take?" Jòzef gave him a little smile and shrugged. "You see – I'll have to go soon."

"We can't let you leave, Mr. Winterbourne, you know that," said Kid, not unkindly.

"No, you don't understand." The old man blushed, "…I'll have to – you know – GO! It's…" another blush. The elderly voice shook with embarrassment. "It's my prostate. You won't understand at your age… " Mr. Winterbourne ground to a halt. He was a picture of misery.

The two younger men exchanged a glance.

"Open the safe, Sir," pleaded Kid, "…I promise we're not going to steal anything!"

"I can't!" said Mr. Winterbourne, "…It's not that I don't believe you. I just couldn't live with myself!" He gulped, "I'll try and wait."

Frustrated Kid turned on Jòzef.

"Can't you at least TRY turnin' tumblers?" he fumed. "Even with this – self-randomising device – it's gotta be quicker?"

"I wouldn't stand a chance," responded Jòzef, equally frustrated. "The only way I'd get into a Centurion A through dial manipulation, is if the client were foolish enough not to change the combination after delivery."

Both young men were suddenly aware of a change in Mr. Winterbourne. He blushed scarlet. He hung his head.

---oooOOOooo---

"I can't see any bruising," said Security Guard one, gazing at the lily-white ankle propped on a small table. "Can you see any bruising, Hank?"

"Nope," said Security Guard two. There cannot have been any bruising, because both men were really, REALLY, looking.

Alice sipped the tea passed to her by the enraptured young clerk.

"Would you think me very forward if I asked one of you to massage it a little?" she simpered, modestly.

After a beat – and something approaching a pile-up – Security Guard two captured the ankle.

"Oh! What gentle hands you have!" cooed the distracting one. Seeing Security Guard one looking disgruntled, she allowed another expression of Camille like brave suffering to flicker across her lovely face. "But… the table is a little hard under my heel. Would it be immodest of me to rest my foot in your lap?"

The young clerk blinked. He had never seen the security staff move as fast!

---oooOOOooo---

"Mr. Winterbourne!" exploded Jòzef, "Don't tell me you didn't change the combination?"

"The safe was only here for a month's trial," came an apologetic voice.

"Even so! It's one of the first rules!" reprimanded Jòzef.

"Er… Jòzef …" Kid attempted to interrupt the righteous wrath.

"I'm sorry! I just …It seemed so – so complicated," bleated Mr. Winterbourne.

"Mr. Collins must have explained it! Surely? Didn't he leave instructions?"

"Er… Jòzef …" Kid again.

"Yes," admitted Mr. Winterbourne. "But…" he met the dark eyes, "…he doesn't take the time you do Jòzef. I didn't like to say…"

"Well," said Jòzef. "I'll take you through it step by step right now! Make this safe properly secure! Now… have a combination in mind … one you'll remember. Do NOT tell me!"

"JÒZEF!!" thundered Kid. Two sets of eyes looked at the close to exploding ex-outlaw. "OPEN THE DANG SAFE!!"

"Oh! Sorry!" apologised Jòzef. He bent to the dial.

---oooOOOooo---

Alice stared at her small naked foot nestled in a uniformed male lap. She flexed it a few times.

"Will that make the swelling go down, do you think?" she asked, innocent eyes wide.

"Bound to eventually, ma-am," gulped the owner of the lap.

---oooOOOooo---

Jòzef finished noting the address of Heyes' captivity, returned the package to the safe and closed it.

"All being well, I'll come back tomorrow and take you through a combination change," he offered. A thought struck him, as he wiped away his chalk marks. "Oh! Unless…" he looked at Mr. Winterbourne, "…are you going to report us?"

The elderly banker hesitated. He looked at the closed safe. It still contained every dollar and every deposit it had five minutes ago.

"I won't tell any lies," he temporised, "…But, let's say I'm hoping no one asks me exactly the right question."

"Suppose someone asks about the drill mark?" grunted Kid, returning the gun to his waistband.

"I think I could equivocate," mused Mr. Winterbourne.

A second idea occurred to Jòzef. Digging deep into an inside pocket, he drew out a small label. A couple of figures were scribbled. The label was stuck over the small indentation left by the drill.

Mr. Winterbourne peered at it and read, "'Calibration Due Date…August 1882.' Perfect!" he admired. "No one will take any notice of that!"

"Don't I know it," sighed the Engineer.

---oooOOOooo---

Through her office window, Alice saw a blond and a most beloved dark figure leaving the bank. She smiled, sipped her tea and prepared – after just a little more foot flexing – for a miraculous recovery.

"Piece of cake, ma-am? At once, ma-am!" nodded the besotted young clerk.

The ethereal one gave a start. She had not realised she had said it out loud.

---oooOOOooo---


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**A QUIET BAR – NOT FAR FROM THE NOTORIOUS BARBARY COAST **

"You understand," stressed Harry Briscoe, to the two suited men facing him, "…this operation is to be kept discrete." He adopted his best, serious, scowl and, pushing back the flaps of his jacket put his hands to his hips. "Discrete!" he barked, again. Two nods in response. "You see, Fields, Crowley…" began Harry, again, still in self-important mode, "…I sought you out – discretely – since we've worked together before. Knew I could trust you! BUT…" the narrow featured face scowled again, "…Nothing, not one word of this, is to be repeated at the 'Frisco office! If the Denver office asks any questions – you know nothing! NOTHING! It is STRICTLY under-cover." Harry spotted the two men he had been watching out for and raised a hand to bring them over.

Kid swallowed down the sick feeling walking up to a couple of detectives gave him, squared his shoulders and strode over. He had qualms over this. But, Harry was right in saying two experienced men, with local knowledge, would be invaluable in the narrow, treacherous alleys and notorious dens of the Barbary Coast. Jòzef had been in favour too, arguing a rescue that, if need be, could put on a good show of being a legitimate Bannerman operation would cow Henry Brooker. A twenty-thousand dollar reward on Heyes and Curry was not worth having if it resulted in a blaze of publicity from three – no make that just two – respectable Bannerman detectives caught up in his trap. Brooker had too much to lose. Kid was uncomfortable at the 'mutually assured destruction' argument. He and Heyes had twenty years to lose. Still, with all his foibles, Kid suspected Jòzef was pretty good at weighing odds. And, his own gut – despite the sick feeling – said, 'Go for it!'

Fields and Crowley were both frowning at Kid.

"You look – familiar," remarked Fields, thoughtfully. "Don't tell me – I'll place you in a minute." Kid, trying to keep his face from freezing, hoped not. Light dawned on Agent Fields. "The Brimstone operation!" He shook his head, with a rueful grin. "We thought we'd got Kid Curry that time." A sigh. "Still, all worked for the best in the end, huh?"

"Sure did," agreed Harry, exchanging a glance with the ex-outlaw. "You're right, Gaines here was in that operation. It's his partner – Agent Grant – that's been deep under-cover, infiltrating a smuggling ring down in the bay. Things have gone wrong – and, we need to get him out! So, if the low-lifes holdin' him swear blind he's some kinda criminal himself – ignore 'em. You'll probably recognise him when you see him. He was at Brimstone too!"

"Are you one of us?" Crowley asked Jòzef. Then, "Where's your gun, fella?"

Harry jumped in to forestall any dangerous truthfulness.

"Kowalski is what you might call a technical expert," he barked, authoritatively. "Just called in for this one job." He did not allow a beat for questions. "Gaines here has the location where Grant's bein' held…" Nothing. "Gaines," repeated Harry, with a nudge to remind Kid of his third alias in twenty-four hours.

"He's in the far cellar of the Barracuda Inn," said Kid.

"The Barracuda!" Fields gave a reluctant shudder.

"The Barracuda!" Cowley gave a reluctant shiver.

A shiver being a slightly more rapid vibratory movement than a shudder.

"Is that – bad?" asked Jòzef, torn between apprehension and a certain boyish excitement.

Both of the men hardened to San Francisco's most notorious sinks of vice and dens of depravity looked at the young engineer.

They shuddered. Or possibly – shivered.

---oooOOOooo---

**THE SAME QUIET BAR – about two hours later **

"Sheesh, Kid!" said Hannibal Heyes, taking a long pull at a cold glass of beer. "There was a moment back there!" He took another sip of fortification. "…Let's just say, the floor plan of the Bank of Fort Worth flashed before my eyes! We've had some narrow escapes but …THAT!" He shook his head in disbelief. "That bullet you ricocheted off the…"

"Uh huh," grunted an equally stunned Kid.

"Shootin' off six gun belts before they'd even…"

"Uh huh."

"Swingin' upside down from that…"

"Uh huh."

A beat.

"Mind you, Kid," continued Heyes, in a less serious tone, "…I woulda escaped soon enough anyhow!"

Kid threw his partner 'the look'.

"Uh huh?" heavy scepticism.

"That tale I was spinnin' 'em … It was workin' Kid!" argued Heyes. "I was talkin' up a storm about the…"

"Uh huh." It had, Kid admitted, been an exceptionally silver-tongued performance.

"And that contraption I'd rigged up usin' nothing but a loose brick, a spoon and a discarded fishing-net. Designed to be triggered by…."

"Uh huh," acknowledged Kid. Now that – that had been clever, even for Heyes.

A beer sipping beat.

"Kid…" said Heyes, "…you haven't told me, yet, how you cracked the safe in the Wells Fargo vault."

"Haven't I?" asked his partner. A beat. He took another long pull at his beer. And another. Kid settled back in his chair and propped his booted feet on the seat opposite. He flicked a speck of dust off his jeans. He drank beer. A smug grin wreathed his face, as waves of Heyesian curiosity washed over him .

---oooOOOooo---

**THE PIERCE AND HAMILTON OFFICES **

Heyes and Harry Briscoe waited in Theodore Pierce's outer office. Not long. In less than a minute, they were ushered into his inner sanctum.

"I had a very worrying communication from the Merchants' National Bank this morning," the businessman beamed. "Apparently, last night, there was a major breach of security!" Heyes clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. "Shocking, isn't it?" agreed Theodore Pierce, unconvincingly. "It's made them want to upgrade the safe – immediately! Not only here in 'Frisco – but in the Los Angeles and Seattle branches too."

"It's an ill wind," remarked Heyes. To his and Harry's immense satisfaction the manufacturer was already opening his own safe and removing a pile of currency that looked delightfully like a pre-prepared $5,000 fee.

"Before I hand this over…" hesitated Mr. Pierce, "…may I ask a question?"

"I think a man about to hand over cash … may ask," smiled Heyes. "Though – perhaps you should make it a hypothetical question, huh?"

"Er … sure!" said the manufacturer. "…Hypothetically – could anyone other than Hannibal Heyes have cracked that safe?"

Heyes considered Jòzef's input to last night's success.

"Hypothetically – EVEN Hannibal Heyes could not have cracked that safe with only a day's notice. Not without help!"

"Are you…" Theodore Pierce dropped his voice, "…HIM? I mean, I suspected it. Even after checking out Carl Grant … I suspected it. You fit the description and…"  
Heyes exchanged a glance with a nervous looking Harry Briscoe.

"Mr. Pierce…" he began, "…if – just hypothetically – I were that ornery critter, Hannibal Heyes – would I be likely to say? And – think carefully – would you want me to? Questions might be raised about last night's events. People may be asked if they've met a notorious outlaw - and not handed him over to the law. Don't you want to put your hand on your heart and say – I have never, to my knowledge, met Hannibal Heyes. I have no idea what went on in the vault of the Merchants' National Bank…?" Heyes met Pierce's eyes. "Do we understand each other? Hypothetically?" he finished.

"Er… sure!" agreed Pierce. He handed over the fee. "Sure!" Another satisfied beam. He shook Heyes' hand. "If Hannibal Heyes DID crack that safe – he must be a pretty honest fellow! Not so much as a single dollar was missing! IF Hannibal Heyes ever wants an honest job – I hope he'll consider applying to Hamilton and Pierce! Hypothetically!"

Harry cast a glance at Heyes. Heyes' face was never easy to read but, Harry thought the ex-outlaw looked rather – touched.

---oooOOOooo--- 

**LUNCH WITH THE LADIES – A DISCRETE TABLE IN AN EXPENSIVE RESTAURANT **

"This is extremely kind," smiled Grace.

"The least we could do," said Heyes. "I gather you and…" he raised his glass to the ethereal, golden one, "…Alice here, did Kid quite a favour in the diversionary tactics line, while he took his own sweet time cracking a simple little safe down in the vault." Ignoring the look thrown at him by his partner, Heyes carried on, "…Besides, Harry's payin'! He's feelin' flush! Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry considered arguing for a moment and then gave a resigned shrug. The share of the fee allocated to him by the ex-outlaws was not so high as he had originally planned when understating the figure to Heyes. But, it was still enough to make him feel comfortably – flush!

He was, however, not relaxed.

"Don't know about you boys, but, I'd like to get outta 'Frisco as soon as possible!"

"That's not very gracious, Harry," rebuked Heyes. "Mrs. Pierce will think you don't appreciate her company."

"No offence, ma-am," said Harry, with a would-be ingratiating smile. "It's just - too many people seem to know too much about this pair! No point waitin' around for word to spread!"

"Lotta truth in there," mused Kid.

"Kid!" reproached Heyes, "…Don't you want a little payback for Henry Brooker?"

"Nope," replied his partner, "All I want is to eat lunch and take the next train out of here!"

"Jed!" squeaked an outraged Alice. "You can't leave yet!"

For a moment, Kid's brow creased in confusion. Then, he remembered his reluctantly given promise of that morning.

"Oh, sheesh!" he groaned.

"That's right, darling!" smiled Alice, capturing his hand, "We're engaged! And – you'd like to ask Daddy for his blessing, wouldn't you?" Harry and Heyes both blinked. "He's just shy!" explained Alice, as Kid's head fell forward in anguish. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Darling," she said, loudly, "…What's that? You want to be married at once? Your passionate ardour can't wait?"

"For Pete's sake, Alice!" despaired Kid, "…People are listening!"

"Is there something you need to tell me, partner?" teased Heyes, catching on fast. "He's plumb crazy about you, Alice," the dark haired ex-outlaw stated aloud. "Talks about nothing else! Even in his sleep!" His partner's glower threatened dire retribution. Heyes gave him a bland smile and patted his shoulder. "Poor fella," he sympathised, kindly. "He's got it bad!"

"Oh, Grace!" trilled Kid's chief tormentor, giving her ringing coloratura soprano exercise, "…Isn't he naughty? He wants to smother me in kisses from my golden head to my rosy-tipped toes!" She tapped Kid's hand, playfully. "You mustn't talk so in front of my stepmother, Darling!" Under her breath, she hissed, "I WANT people to listen. Do you see that lady in the bay window? DON'T look! SHE'S one of the worst gossips in San Francisco! Daddy will know all about this before the day is out!"

"Never mind Violet Cholmondley!" said Grace, under her breath, "Look who else just walked in!"

Alice swivelled round in her seat. Her face lit up as she turned back to the table!

"Perfect!"

The three men glanced over at the door. Nothing in the appearance of the two bracket-faced, supercilious looking women entering the dining room explained Alice's pleasure to them.

"Who is it?" Heyes asked Grace.

"The younger one is Mrs. Henry Brooker," smiled Grace, discretely, "…The elder is his mother-in-law. It's a close run thing which has the most venomous tongue in the City." Grace dropped her eyes, "… They've spotted us! They're coming over!"

"Good!" breathed Alice. Out loud, to the beleaguered Kid. "What's that? My beauty inflames your raging male desire beyond all reason! Oh…Darling! How can you SAY such things?"

"Without moving his lips, evidently," murmured Grace.

"Oh! I can't wait for you to ask Daddy for my hand!" declared Alice. "…I'm sure he'll love you as much as I do! After all – what does lack of social position, or – or lack of education matter?"

"Hey!" protested Kid. He definitely remembered getting an education! "Ow!" he added, as a small boot connected sharply with his anklebone.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Pierce," iced the younger of the bracket-faced ladies, "Good afternoon…" the coolness of the greeting dipped into arctic zones, "…Miss Pierce!"

"How do you do?" sunshined Alice, cheerily, as the three men at the table rose to their feet. "Mrs. Brooker, Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons, may I introduce – Mr. Harry Briscoe, Mr. Thaddeus Jones and…" she clutched the arm of the fair-haired man and gazed at him worshipfully, "…THIS … this is my fiancé – Mr. Joshua Psmith! Silent 'P'." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his ungrateful cheek. The two ladies bridled in frigid disapproval at Alice's forwardness. Harry and Heyes gave polite nods and murmured a greeting. The ladies allowed their eyes to travel slowly over Kid – or rather his suit. He was treated to two sneers. Then Harry and Heyes were examined and, judging by the sour expressions, found equally wanting.

"This engagement must be very recent, Miss Pierce," sniffed Mrs. Brooker, "…I thought you were carrying on with that – that …" her voice dripped with contempt, "…that Pole!" She gave a humourless and scornful laugh. "Even YOUR father had enough sense to object to that! And, one could hardly accuse HIM of being particular as to who marries into his family." A venomous and scathing look was cast at Grace. "As his own choice demonstrated!"

Kid felt Alice's grip tighten, as her fingers clenched at this disparagement to Jòzef. Glancing down he had to admire the dramatic ability that kept the smile on her face. Although, he glanced again, the cornflower blue eyes held a decidedly dangerous glitter.

"Oh! All my girlish fancies are forgotten now I've met Joshua!" she trilled. "His manly passion has swept me off my feet!"

"Do you reside here in San Francisco, Mr. …Psmith?" asked the scornful Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons. Kid had never realised just how much scorn could be poured into the simple surname – 'Psmith'. Even with a silent 'P'.

"No!" forestalled Alice, hastily, unwilling to trust her brand new fiancé with an unscripted speaking role. "Joshua doesn't live anywhere! He's a – a …"

"Transient!" offered Heyes, ever helpful.

"Yes," accepted Alice, firmly. "We're going to live a life on the trail…scorning convention. Making love with fervid abandon, nightly, under the stars! Our only home – each other's caressing arms!" Kid closed his eyes in agony and wished hard for the ground to swallow him up. Alas – wishes are so seldom granted.

"Really!" bridled Mrs. Brooker.

"Really!" bridled Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons.

"Yes, really!" declared the shameless Alice. "And – if Daddy doesn't give his permission – we won't even be getting married first! We shall simply run away and – and live in sin! Lots of sin! So there!"

Two appalled ladies turned their backs on Alice and the even more appalled Kid.

"Let us lunch elsewhere, mama. I have never heard anything SO vulgar!"

"Be fair, my dear! What chance does the girl have with that – that …" a shudder, "…that WOMAN as a stepmother?"

Noses in the air, they took their departure. Over in the bay window a wide-eyed eavesdropper abandoned her crème brulee and made haste to leave. There was gossip to spread.

"Alice!" reproved her stepmother, "…That was NOT proper behaviour, dear!"

"I don't care! How DARE she speak about Jòzef like that! And she was rude to you, Grace, for no reason at all! AND…" Alice gave Kid's arm a sisterly squeeze, "…however heinous Jed's suit – that ghastly woman has no call to sneer at him." A flushed, little face looked up at the ex-outlaw. "Never mind, Jed! You're more of a natural gentleman than her horrid husband could be in a hundred years!"

A sneer from two complete strangers had scarcely troubled Kid. Still, he could not help being rather disarmed by this tribute. True to form, Alice tempered her support with a fresh burst of criticism.

"TRY and look more enthusiastic about our being fervently in love though, Jed," urged his temporary fiancée. "When I say we're going to give rein to our surging physical desires in the moonlight I want you to look more…" she searched, her eyes fell on Harry Briscoe, "…That's perfect, Mr. Briscoe!" admired the ethereal golden one. "Well done! Jed – look at Mr. Briscoe. Why can't you look more like that? Sort of… panting and… hungry …and drooling?" A beat. "That'll do, thank you, Mr. Briscoe," she said, kindly. "I'm sure Jed's got the idea now. You can stop gawping at me."

Harry was utterly confused by Kid's sudden acquisition of a breathtakingly gorgeous bride-to-be. Alice had pretty much had his undivided attention since she uttered the words 'passionate ardour'. However, he made an effort to tone down the – gawping.

"While Kid works on summoning more enthusiasm for his good luck," said Heyes, ignoring the glower this earned him. "May I ask a question? I can see Alice here rubbing a woman like Mrs. Brooker up the wrong way…but what makes her drip venom over our polite and gracious Mrs. Pierce?"

"She chooses to believe – completely erroneously – I have some interest in her husband," said Grace, coolly.

"Oooohh??" breathed Alice. "I never knew that! What gave her that idea? I mean – he's nothing to look at. And…you can't want his money. You've already got Daddy's?"

"I suspect HE gave her that idea, in self defence, after an evening party two months ago," explained Grace, dryly. "She walked in on me …fending him off!" She sipped her coffee, "Successfully fending him off, I hasten to add." She gave a little smile, "…Henry Brooker looked so scared of his wife, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost."

"So …as well as being a snake… Henry Brooker has a roving eye," mused Heyes.

Kid watched his partner's face. A wicked expression dawned. The dark eyes sparkled.

"No, Heyes!" he groaned.

"I never said a word," protested Heyes.

"You were thinkin' a word!" said Kid, "…You were thinkin' – payback!"

"No!" Heyes said, with dignity. "I was thinking about that old friend of Grace's, whose girls kept you under such good control last night, Kid. For a fee." Once again Heyes ignored his partner's glower. "I was thinking – thanks to Mr. Pierce, we have a stake again. We can afford a fee. I was thinking – 'roving eye'. I was thinking about Jòzef's friend Tom and all that interesting stuff Jòzef told me about cameras. I was thinking about stand 12 at the Exhibition, with it's beautiful - empty – demonstration model Brooker 808. I was thinking…" Heyes allowed himself a dramatic pause, "…poetic justice!"

With a lift of his eyebrows, Kid turned to Alice.

"OK, Alice. My helpmeet! You're the one with the vocabulary. What's the difference between 'poetic justice' and plain old 'payback'?"

Alice gave him a mischievous grin.

"In this context – just the number of syllables!"

Kid shook his head, ruefully.

"Is it really worth it, Heyes?

"Kid!" reproached Heyes, "…now you're settled as an almost married man, you're no fun at all! Of COURSE it's worth it!"

---oooOOOooo---

**THE EXHIBITION OF INNOVATION – TRADE DAY – THAT AFTERNOON**

Jòzef and his dear old friend, looked up from a deep and, frankly, geeky conversation. A shadow had fallen across the stand of the Eastman Dry Plate Company.

"Hello," Jòzef greeted Hannibal Heyes. "This is Tom Forbes, I was telling you about his work on delayed triggering of mechanical shutters…" Jòzef tailed off. His dear friend was not looking at the dark haired ex-outlaw, nor responding to the proffered hand. Young Mr. Forbes had his eyes riveted to something even more fascinating than a concealed camera.

"This is Mrs. Beatrice Laplume," introduced Heyes. "Mr. Forbes. Mr. Kowalski."

"How do you do?" The enchanting, older woman smiled warmly at the two young engineers. She held out her hand graciously to the gangly Mr. Forbes. He wiped his palm rapidly on his tweeds and took it. "Mr. Forbes," purred 'Aunt Beatrice' winningly, "…I've heard SO much about you from Mr. Smith here."

Tom, unused to feminine interest, felt his Adam's apple bob convulsively. Jòzef noted, conscientiously, that in Mrs. Laplume's presence the ex-outlaw had switched back to HIS original alias.

"I am – utterly enthralled – by photography!" enthused 'Aunt Beatrice'.

"Gur…gur…mmmpht," gurgled Tom, fluently.

"Mr. Smith said…if I asked very, very nicely, you and Mr. Kowalski…" a dazzling smile was given to Jòzef. Despite having eyes only for Alice, Jòzef involuntarily straightened his shoulders, tie and hair – in that order. "…might explain these new cameras to me? Of course…" 'Aunt Beatrice' pressed her hands together as she gazed, appealingly, at Tom's reddening face. "…you'd have to explain it very simply – for me. I know you're both SO clever!"

"Gug …gug…huh…" contributed Tom.

"It'd be a pleasure, ma-am," said Jòzef, sticking to – English.

"Is it true…" 'Aunt Beatrice' touched Tom lightly on the arm. He nodded, sappily, without waiting for the question. "…there's a mobile dark room here?"

"Gug …Uh huh!" managed Tom, nodding again.

"After you've taken me through cameras and your – marvellous – shutters, would I be imposing TOO much if I asked you to show me how to develop a plate?"

The head stopped nodding. It shook instead.

"No!" gulped Tom. "I m-mean – no you wouldn't be imposing. It'd be…a …a …"

"A pleasure, ma-am," supplied Jòzef.

"A pleasure, ma-am," agreed Tom. Another gulp. "This – this is one of our latest models, ma-am. Shall I – explain how it works?"

"Oh, please!" cooed 'Aunt Beatrice', as if life held no greater treat. She moved a little aside with the shy young engineer.

Heyes, who had begun to worry Tom's bashful inarticulacy might stand in the way of his plan, relaxed at this evidence he could string together a coherent sentence. He held Jòzef back from following his friend.

"I may be wrong…" Heyes said, "…but, I think someone wants a word." He nodded over to where a solid figure, having concluded its inspection of Stand 17 was walking toward them.

"Good afternoon, Jones," said Theodore Pierce. After a tiny pause, he added, civilly enough, "Afternoon, Kowalski."

"Good afternoon, Sir," responded Jòzef, also – civil.

Theodore Pierce, still in excellent humour, at the news from the Merchants' National Bank, began, "I hear you and the Brooker organisation have parted company, Kowalski," he remarked. "Is that so?"

"Yes," replied Jòzef, with a frown.

Theodore Pierce waited, hoping hard the best engineer he had ever employed would ask, humbly, for his old job back. Nothing. Pierce cleared his throat.

"I guess you regret ever leaving, Pierce and Hamilton? Now!" He held up a hand to forestall the non-existent response. "I'm a reasonable man. I can forgive mistakes! I'll put it down to the foolishness of youth, huh? If you give me your word to forget all this nonsense with my daughter, you can have your old job back, on the old terms! What do you say?"

Heyes cast a glance at Jòzef. The young man looked distinctly under whelmed by this offer.

"No," he responded, bluntly.

"What do you mean – 'No'?" blustered Pierce.

"I think," Heyes ventured, "Jòzef's a mite too polite to give you the long version. But – if you want my opinion – as a…" he grinned, "…security expert. I reckon I'd be a bit more persuasive, Mr. Pierce. I've seen him in action and you don't want to lose…"

"In action?!" repeated Theodore Pierce. "You don't mean … last night…? When you said you'd needed …help?" He stared, with increasing admiration at Jòzef.

"Hypothetically, of course," smiled Heyes, ignoring Jòzef's 'Shut up!' signals.

Theodore Pierce drew a deep breath.

"I always liked you, Jòzef!" he said, simply, patting the younger man's shoulder. Then, "Sheesh! No wonder Brooker fired you!"

"The only person who ever fired me, is you, Mr. Pierce," responded Jòzef, coolly. "I resigned from Brooker's." He moved his shoulder out of reach. "Any promise to relinquish my interest in Miss Pierce is out of the question. I am honour bound unless and until she, herself, breaks the betrothal. You already have my word I will neither marry, nor engage in clandestine meetings with an under-age girl without her parent's consent. I have no intention of repeating it. Good day, Sir."

Theodore Pierce caught the arm of the younger man. He made a big effort and swallowed his pride.

"I was wrong to fire you. It wasn't fair. I'm sorry," he managed, jerkily. "Will you come back?"

A beat. Once again Heyes reflected Grace had, on the whole, not done too badly for herself.

The manufacturer went on, "Sheesh, Jòzef! Do you want me to grovel? Alice is my – my little girl! I guess I …"

Jòzef flushed and interrupted him.

"Of course not, Sir! I'd be happy to come back." He met the older man's eyes. "Thank you."

Theodore Pierce gave a rueful smile.

"And…I've been thinking. Arguing with Alice is never easy, anyhow. When we argue over what to look for in a husband – well…" he dropped his eyes, "…I've been listening to myself, and…I'm not sure I like what I hear. Maybe I should just admit – when it comes to spotting a good man, Alice has more sense than her father."He held out his hand. Looking rather stunned, Jòzef shook it. "What do you say, I take you home for dinner? Let Alice and Grace start planning a wedding?" He turned to Heyes. "Care to join us, Mr. Jones?"

"Er…sure," said Heyes. The arrangements for his expensive – but 'worth it' – poetic justice were pretty much made. The reason for his hesitation was a feeling he OUGHT to run ahead to inform Alice and Kid that no additional incentives were needed for Alice's father to appreciate Jòzef's qualities as a son-in-law. That, considered Heyes, would be the right – the gentlemanly – the partnerly – thing to do. He shook his head, slowly. Strange how doing the 'right thing' seemed – no fun at all.

He decided to do the – second best – thing.

"Mr. Pierce, Jòzef…" he began, as they left the exhibition hall, "…when we get back, you may find Alice has – changed her mind."

"What?!" blurted Jòzef.

"Woman's privilege," said Heyes. "Mr. Pierce may find your rival – waiting for a word alone in the study." He pursed his lips, "Just my intuition."

"Rival?" blustered Theodore Pierce. "Who? When?"

"My partner," supplied Heyes. "A whirlwind romance from what he told me. You might say, Alice – captured him!" He shot a meaningful look at Jòzef, who began to understand.

"YOUR partner?" repeated Mr. Pierce. A look of horror crossed his face. "You mean…" he cast a cautious glance at Jòzef and, instead of saying a name, mimed a quick draw.

"Uh huh," nodded Heyes. "Hypothetically," he added. "Alice is SURE you'll approve! You'll compare the eligibility of my partner to Jòzef here and – approve." He gave Jòzef a dimpled smile. "You get the picture?"

The young Engineer looked distinctly annoyed.

"Alice is – a shade impatient," he said, carefully. "She doesn't believe in just – waiting for things to happen."

Light dawned more slowly on Theodore Pierce, but, it dawned. He fumed.

"Why can't that dang girl just – behave?!"

Heyes saw a figure, vaguely familiar from a restaurant bay window, spot and bustle toward Theodore Pierce.

"I reckon a rumour of your daughter's latest beau is about to reach you," he said. "Brace yourself… Alice wasn't what you'd call discrete!"

Heyes watched the two men receive the supposedly sympathetic relaying of gossip. 'Distinctly annoyed' became a distinct – understatement.

---oooOOOooo---


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

**HENRY BROOKER'S OFFICE**

Henry Brooker was having a bad day. He had had to listen to a diatribe from the manager of the Merchants' National Bank. There had been no compensatory news of safe breaking at the Wells Fargo Building. And, while the original kidnapping of 'Thaddeus Jones' had followed Mr. Dawkins' carefully laid plans – Brooker's gut told him something had now gone wrong. The efficient and punctual Dawkins had not returned from a supervisory visit to the kidnap locale. To top everything, Henry Brooker would soon have to leave the sanctuary of his office to return to domestic bliss with not only his wife but also, his mother-in-law.

He heard the voice of young Cadogen, manning the outer office in Mr. Dawkins' absence, rise outside.

"I assure you, Miss – you've been misinformed…there are NO vacancies…I'm sorry, Mr. Brooker cannot be disturbed…No, Miss…"

Brooker flung open his office door, about to bellow for quiet. He saw two sets of – entrancing – deeply fringed eyes gazing at him. Two sets of rosy lips smiled. Two fine bosoms heaved under demure snowy white shirtwaists.

"Mr. Brooker?" asked Mary, as if a 'yes' would fulfil her girlish dreams.

"Mr. – Henry – Brooker?" chimed in Sue, as if she had waited to see him, all her maidenly life.

"Uh huh?" he grunted, eyes riveted.

"We've come to enquire about the vacancies – for lady clerks," breathed the first absolute peach. "I'm Mary – Darling." Henry Brooker blinked at the sudden, though pleasant, term of endearment.

"And I'm Sue Darling," contributed Sue. She fluttered. "We're the Darling twins," she clarified.

"You sure are!" murmured the transfixed possessor of a roving eye.

"I told the Miss Darlings, there WERE no vacancies," chipped in young Mr. Cadogen. "They must be mistaken."

"Oh, Mr. Brooker," pleaded Mary, laying a soft hand on his arm, "…surely you can think of SOME position you'd like to see Sue and I take up?"

"We're very flexible!" Sue assured him. A second, dove soft hand, touched his sleeve. "And…very willing!"

"Everyone who hires us…" fluted Mary, earnestly, "…always reports themselves – fully satisfied.

Two pouting lower lips were moistened by the tips of two pink little tongues. Two beseeching looks were thrown from beneath two sets of curling, quivering lashes.

Henry Brooker ran a finger round the inside of his stiff collar. "I think I WILL interview the young ladies, Cadogen," he said, gruffly. "You can finish for the day – off you go! Shut the door!"

Two cooing voices murmured grateful thanks, tones warm with feminine appreciation of the commanding masculinity shown.

"What about your 5.30 appointment, Sir?" demurred Mr. Cadogen.

"Get rid of him!" ordered Brooker. "Tell him…" he ushered the girls into his inner office. His roving eye lingered on their – credentials. "Tell him – something's come up!"

---oooOOOooo---

**MEANWHILE – AT THE BROOKER RESIDENCE**

"Telegraph, madam," intoned the Brooker butler, holding out a silver salver.

"Who is it from, dear?" asked Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons.

"It's from Henry," answered Mrs. Henry Brooker. She turned puce. "He says – he is unavoidably detained with a business associate and will spend the night at his club! He will see us at the Exhibition on tomorrow's Public Day. Ooooohhh!" The telegram had not said – 'ooooohhh', that part was original Mrs. Henry Brooker. "How DARE he? Business acquaintance – my foot!"

"I never liked him," soothed Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons.

"I can't believe Henry had the – the gall to send that!" fumed her daughter, shaking the offending missive as if it were the spousal throat.

She did right to state doubt. It was Hannibal Heyes, not Henry Brooker, who had sent the telegram. However, possibly due to his ever-changing aliases – he appeared to have forgotten his name.

---oooOOOooo---

**THEODORE PIERCE'S STUDY **

"So, Mr. Psmith…" smiled Theodore Pierce, "…why did you want a word in my study?"

Since Alice was still clinging hard to his arm, possibly to stop him bolting for the door, Kid might have considered Mr. Pierce lacking in deductive ability. He might have. He did not. He was too busy wanting to fulfil his bargain to the ethereal golden one, so he could be safely thrown out of the house in a fit of paternal rage.

"Joshua has something to ask you, Daddy," Alice set the ball rolling. "Not that his name is really Joshua Psmith. That's an alias." Kid stiffened. "His real name is Fred Graines…"

"Gaines," corrected Kid, gloomily.

"Whatever," dismissed Alice. "He's Mr. Grant's partner. You know – Mr. Carl Grant, Daddy?" she repeated to drive home the point. "This is HIS partner…and… he's got something to ask you."

"Go ahead, Mr. Gaines," smiled Pierce, genially. It was not often he was one step ahead of his clever, infuriating, daughter. He was looking forward to this.

"Alice and I…" Kid sighed deeply and spat it out, "…would like to be married, Sir." Duty done, he felt impelled to add, "I realise it's sudden. And – I'm no catch. No steady job. No assets. You know nothing about me. I'd understand if you threw me out. If you threw me out – right now…" Kid looked hopeful, "…who could blame you? Not me! I'd just leave. Alice'd get over it …OW!" Another finely placed kick to his anklebone shut him up.

"You see, Daddy," declared Alice, reflecting that if you want a job done well, you have to do it yourself, "…while you and Grace thought I was at the Meredith's weekend party, REALLY I was with…" she fluttered a worshipful look at the scowling blond ex-outlaw, "…HIM! Fred is so – so desperately in love with me, Daddy! And, I've fallen head over heels for his – his air of danger…just look at the way he wears his gun… it's SO masculine! And …you should see…"

"Well, my dear," interrupted her father, "…that all sounds very romantic." He stood up and held out his hand. "You have my blessing, Mr. Gaines."

"What?" yelped Kid.

"It is useless to refuse us!" carried on the inattentive Alice. "If we cannot marry with your consent, Fred intends to carry me off to a life of scandalous, illicit …" Her father's words sank in, "WHAT?" she gasped.

"I don't think you heard Alice, Sir," pleaded Kid. "I'm CARL GRANT'S– you know who he is, huh? I'm HIS partner. I'm not eligible at all. I'd hardly be – WANTED – if you catch my drift – in a respectable family."

"You're too modest," soothed Mr. Pierce. "There's no need to CURRY favour with me, Mr. Gaines – if you catch MY drift – I understand perfectly who you are. You love Alice, she loves you…" The pole-axed expressions of the young couple gave no confirmation to this statement. "…that's good enough for me! Alice has convinced me – love matters most. Isn't that right, Alice?"

The elfin one was speechless. It was a sweet moment for Theodore Pierce.

"Let's go tell your stepmother," he gloated. "Come along…" he gave the two horror-struck youngsters a fatherly smile, "…you lovebirds!"

---oooOOOooo---

**HENRY BROOKER'S OFFICE**

"Oooh – it feels so – so smooth!" admired Mary.

"And – it's so big!" marvelled Sue.

"…This is nothing!" dismissed Henry Brooker. "I have a much bigger one!"

"I love safes!" cooed Mary.

"Opening them makes me feel so …so naughty!" giggled Sue.

Henry Brooker felt a – dishevelled – twin, snuggle up on either side.

"Where's your really, really big safe?" breathed Mary, delicately inserting the tip of a tongue in his ear.

"The demonstration model is over at the Exhibition Hall," said Brooker, rumpling a no longer modest shirtwaist. "The Hall's closed now though. All locked up!"

"If we broke in…" cooed Sue, sliding a hand over a balding head and allowing her camisole to slip over one velvety shoulder. "… I would feel SO naughty – I think you'd have to spank me!"

"Me too!" put in Mary, as if she could not bear to be left out.

"I've a key!" gulped Brooker. "Will that count as breaking in?"

---oooOOOooo---

**THEODORE PIERCE'S DRAWING ROOM**

Kid and Alice trailed after Alice's father back to the drawing room. They saw Grace already had company. Heyes and Jòzef stood up, politely. It was only the second visitor that caused Alice's scheming – but ever-faithful – heart to sink to her dainty satin evening shoes.

"Jòzef!" gasped Alice, "What are you doing here?" She dropped Kid's arm like a hot potato and stepped away, guilt flushing her lovely face.

"Now, now, Alice," her father patted her hand, kindly, "…I'm sure Mr. Kowalski will understand. Good news, darling!" he said, to Grace, "My little Alice is going to be married to Mr. Gaines, here!" He shot a dramatically sympathetic look at Jòzef. "Don't take it too hard, Jòzef. Plenty more fish in the sea!"

"True enough," said Jòzef.

"Jòzef!" protested Alice. She expected a bit more than – that!

"Congratulations, Alice. Congratulation, Gaines," said Jòzef, shaking Kid's reluctant hand. "I hope you'll both be very happy."

"Jòzef!!" Alice stamped her foot. "Don't you even care?"

"'Tis better to have loved and lost …" said Jòzef, philosophically, with a nonchalant shrug. A beat. The ethereal golden one swayed from the shock. "Are you planning a long engagement, Mr. Gaines?" asked Jòzef, conversationally.

Heyes forestalled his partner.

"No! No!" he said, cheerfully slapping Kid on the back. "You plan on leavin' for Bolivia, real soon, huh? You'll want to take Alice with you?" Kid's brows snapped together. The whole situation, Pierce and Jòzef's reactions – not to mention the delighted mischievous look in Heyes' eyes – was very suspicious. "You and Alice plan to farm pigs down there? Alice having a natural knack with the creatures? Isn't that right?" went on Heyes.

Kid glowered as hard as he could.

"Just you wait!" he muttered, under his breath.

"Pigs?" checked Jòzef. "…Sounds good." He turned his back on the still reeling Alice and casually remarked to Heyes, "Mrs. Laplume seems charming. A widow? Would she consider it forward if I called?"

"Jòzef!!!" howled Alice. "You KNOW! You MUST know! I didn't MEAN it!" Her bottom lip wobbled. She did her best to stiffen it. "Who's Mrs. Laplume?" came a plaintive little voice.

---oooOOOooo---

**STAND 12 IN THE EXHIBITION HALL**

"Oooooh – Mr. Brooker! You are SO wicked!" gasped the industrious Mary, ensuring both Henry Brooker's and her face were not obscured from the lens of the first oh-so-discrete camera.

"You want me to do WHAT, Mr. Brooker?" giggled the equally hard-working Sue, checking she was not throwing a shadow in the wrong direction. "Bad boy! I think you need to be punished!"

"What have you got there? You naughty, naughty girls!!" leched Brooker He heard a purposeful click. "What are you doing?" He tugged at his wrists. "Is – is this some new game?"

---oooOOOooo---

**THEODORE PIERCE'S DRAWING ROOM**

"Didn't mean it, Alice?" said Jòzef, blandly. "Didn't you promise never, never, never to play silly games to make me jealous ever again?"

"I didn't!" protested Alice, blowing her nose into an inadequate lace handkerchief. Jòzef handed her an adequate, man-size, linen square. The elfin nose was re-blown. "I'd NEVER break a promise to you! NEVER! You weren't supposed to know! I was only trying to show Daddy that compared to …" she looked at Kid. She searched. She realised she had completely lost track of who knew who was who – and, which alias she was using. "…this fella…" she compromised, ungrammatically, "…you are simply, wonderfully eligible!"

Kid frowned. Was he being insulted? He decided to put it down to young love. As long as Alice was safely off his hands – he did not care if he was described as marital slime!

"It's ridiculous of Daddy to think you're not good enough for me…" Alice went on.

"I agree," said Theodore Pierce. "In fact … don't you think, Jòzef, you're far TOO good for this scheming baggage? If you don't marry her – I'll still make you a partner. You could do far better!"

"Daddy!" squeaked Alice.

"Theo!" protested Grace.

"I'd think it over," counselled Kid, semi-seriously. "Plenty more – feminine – fish in the sea!" He shook his head, sadly, at Alice. "Not a fitting helpmeet for a talented man!"

"Well…" teased Jòzef, "…you may have a point."

"Oh, Jòzef," gulped Alice, summoning up a brave face, "…I know I'm not good enough for you. If you change your mind – I'll understand! I just…" the lip wobbled, again, "…I just wish …" wobble, wobble, " …I just wish I WAS good enough!"

"Hey!" Alice found herself swept up in a tight hug. "Shush! Don't be silly! I'll never change my mind. You know that!"

"You weren't really interested in some - some widow?" bleated a tiny, chastened, voice.

"Let me tell you a secret about safe engineers," whispered Jòzef, tenderly, "…despite appearances, in one way – we're like swans." A pair of cornflower blue eyes blinked up, enquiringly. "We mate for life," he confided, into a shell-like ear.

---oooOOOooo---


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

**STAND 12 IN THE EXHIBITION HALL Saturday ****–**** Public Day.**

"Just wait till I get my hands on Henry!" fumed Mrs. Brooker, sotto voice. "As if it wasn't bad enough to send some feeble excuse why he didn't come home last night – now he keeps us waiting!" She shot an anxious glance at a distinguished looking man, standing with a distinctly subdued looking Mr. Dawkins. "Not just us!" she hissed to her mother. "That gentleman is from Barings. Henry should be here – showing him the features of the 808."

Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Men!" she scathed, comprehensively.

"Look who's coming over," sneered Mrs. Brooker, still keeping her tones low, "…The three men that vulgar Pierce girl lunched with yesterday." She gave an ill-natured snigger. "It looks as if her latest suitor has already strayed!"

Her mother stared at the approaching Kid, Heyes and Harry. Kid and Harry each had a smiling 'Darling' twin hanging onto an arm. Heyes escorted the fascinating, though admittedly mercenary, 'Aunt Beatrice'.

Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons' face creased in contempt.

"Men!" It was one of her favourite expressions.

The ex-outlaws touched their hats, politely. They were rewarded with frosty stares and what is known in the higher social circles as – the cut direct.

"Good morning, Mr. Dawkins," smiled Heyes, his cheerfulness not impaired in the slightest by the chill welcome at the Brooker stand.

Mr. Dawkins eyes widened at seeing the man he increasingly believed to be the leader of the notorious Devil's Hole Gang. He noted the physical characteristics of the blond, blue-eyed, even-featured, five foot eleven, one hundred and sixty pound man accompanying the possible Hannibal Heyes. Was this – 'Thaddeus Jones'? Mr. Dawkins had never seen the man held briefly in the notorious Barracuda Inn. Since he never mentioned the tempting name – 'Kid Curry' – to his hirelings, they had not mentioned the brunette colouring of their temporary captive. Mr. Dawkins felt a tremor of mixed apprehension and excitement. When informed of 'Thaddeus Jones' rescue, he assumed the walking twenty thousand dollar reward coveted by his employer had left the city. Now, it stood before him. BUT, it stood before him wearing an assured confident smile. Dawkins' grey brows snapped together in suspicion. He was far too wily to let his thoughts show in his manner or voice.

"Good morning," he replied, dryly, waiting developments.

Heyes summed up the elegant man beside Mr. Dawkins, clearly being treated as a VIP. Potential customer, he thought.

"Are we about to hear the features of this new safe?" he asked, as if making polite conversation.

"That's why I'm here," replied the representative from Barings, with the hint of an impatient glance first at Mr. Dawkins and, secondly, at the clock.

Mrs. Brooker made an imperious gesture at Mr. Dawkins.

"Carry on, Dawkins," she ordered. "Mr. Brooker must be detained. Open the safe."

"Looks open already," said Heyes, blandly, as Mr. Dawkins laid a hand on the dial. Dawkins frowned and glanced at the edge of the door. Looking closely, he saw this was true. A sliver of a gap showed. "Seems to be fastened ajar with something," remarked Heyes.

"You know," responded Kid, conversationally, "…I reckon that's a blob of quick dry putty."

Dawkins pulled open the door of the safe. A gasp went up from the spectators. The safe was not empty. It was filled with the plump and sweating form of Henry Brooker. His hands were firmly cuffed behind his back. His legs were firmly tethered with what appeared to be – ladies stockings. Another stocking acted as a serviceable gag. None of this accounted, completely, for the mixture of shock and laughter amongst the gasps. To appreciate the full effect it must be reported that Henry Brooker was…Not to put too fine a point upon it…In plain terms…

He was butt nekkid.

"Henry!!" barked his wife.

"Henry!!" yapped his mother-in-law.

"Mr. Brooker!!" yelped Dawkins, making haste to remove the gag and free Brooker's legs.

Behind Mr. Dawkins strategically held jacket, Henry Brooker, purple with rage and embarrassment, heaved himself out of the safe and onto his feet.

Fresh gasps of laughter arose behind him, as this exposed an unappealing back view to the Saturday crowds. Looking over his shoulder, Brooker was horrified to see two grinning men wearing 'Press' tags. One scribbled furiously in his notebook. The other hastened to turn his camera tripod away from a dull display of the latest telephone equipment and…"

"DAWKINS!" squealed the handcuffed and helpless Henry Brooker.

FLASH!

A split second too late, the loyal Mr. Dawkins flourished the concealing jacket – like a matador's cape – to conceal the ample rear end. This, of course, uncovered Brooker's – hem, hem – frontal aspect.

"OLÉ!" giggled Mary, before pretending to hide her eyes behind her fan.

Sue's heels beat a rapid flamenco rhythm, before she joined her sister in mock coyness and giggles.

"Mary! Sue!" reproved 'Aunt Beatrice', as Mr. Dawkins swung the jacket back, in an agony of indecision. She handed the clerk her shawl, to wrap around the sweating and scarlet banker. "I DO apologise, ma-am," she said, politely, to Mrs. Brooker. "You know how foolish young girls are." An arched eyebrow rose. "They laugh at the silliest little thing!"

Heyes clicked his tongue in mock sympathy with Brooker.

"Shame the press were here," he commiserated, "…Newspapers can be so – so cutting with their headlines, huh?" He drew a mock banner in the air. "'Prominent businessman makes Exhibition of himself'?" he guessed. "Or…'Crack exposed in Brooker security arrangements'?"

"Brooker family jewels spend night in safe?" contributed Kid, deadpan.

"HENRY!" exploded Mrs Brooker, by now puce with fury, "…What happened?"

"HENRY!!" yapped his mother-in-law, red with rage, "…Tell us!"

"I was… I was…" gasped Henry Brooker. "It was…"

"Oh, please… Mr. Brooker," interrupted the clear voice of 'Aunt Beatrice', "…Tell us EXACTLY what happened to you last night!"

Henry Brooker's gaze spun round to the source of the voice. Next to 'Aunt Beatrice', on Harry Briscoe's arm, stood Mary. Or, perhaps, Sue. His eyes moved left. On Kid's arm, there was Sue. Or, perhaps, Mary. Both – 'Darlings' – smiled at him, pityingly.

"HENRY!!"

The sympathetic smiles of the – 'Darlings' – widened. Their dark eyes laughed.

"Er…" gulped Henry Brooker. "Er…"

"Can't you remember?" asked Mary, compassionately.

"Perhaps he was hit on the head?" chimed in Sue.

"Or maybe – he's just absentminded?" conjectured Mary.

"We're absent minded – aren't we, Mary?" empathised Sue.

"Sure are," agreed Mary. "I can't even remember what I was doing last night! Can you, Sue?"

"Let me think," puzzled Sue.

Henry Brooker's eyes swivelled from one perfect face to the other. He glanced at his suspicious wife. Were the – 'Darlings' – going to consign him to the doghouse for the rest of his life?

"I remember what you two girls were doing last night," smiled 'Aunt Beatrice'. Henry Brooker stared at her like a rabbit staring at a snake. "You were having your photographs taken!" The delightful woman on Heyes' arm opened her bag. "Here they are," she beamed. "One for you, Mary. One for you, Sue."

"Oh, we'd like Joshua and Thaddeus to have them!" cooed Mary.

"As a keepsake!" agreed Sue.

Both ex-outlaws admired the photographs. Heyes stepped over to Henry Brooker and Mr. Dawkins and showed them.

"Isn't that clear?" he asked, appreciatively.

Henry Brooker gawped at the picture. It was not only clear. It brought a whole new meaning to the phrase 'compromising position'. Heyes tucked the photograph into his inside pocket.

"I'll treasure that," he remarked. "I can't imagine parting with it." He cast an enquiring look at his partner. "Can you imagine parting with yours?"

"Nope," said Kid. "Not unless…" he grinned, "…something ridiculous happened. Like – being arrested and having to hand over all my personal effects."

"That WOULD be ridiculous!" laughed Heyes. He turned innocent wide brown eyes onto Henry Brooker and Mr. Dawkins. "Wouldn't it?" The eyes took on just a spark of danger.

"Uh huh!" gulped Brooker.

"Indubitably," intoned Mr. Dawkins.

"HENRY!" shrilled his wife, bursting with impatience at all this apparent nonsense. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"Er…" panicked Henry Brooker.

"Mr. Briscoe," said 'Aunt Beatrice', "…you're a Bannerman detective… I'll wager you can deduce what happened." Her lashes batted encouragingly at Harry.

"Well, ma-am…" started Harry, once again making use of his serious scowl, "…I think I can."

Henry Brooker began to shake his head. Once again, despite his considerable – and perspiring – bulk, the resemblance to a bunny facing a rattler was pronounced.

"I'll wager Mr. Brooker was here in the hall – alone," Harry made use of one sharply pointing finger – indicative of the master-sleuth. "He was working late – conscientious, dedicated – despite wishing he was home, warm in the bosom of his family…"

Henry Brooker stopped shaking his head.

"…Suddenly, he was set upon by three or four men – who appeared from nowhere…"

"…Or maybe five or six?" chipped in Heyes, helpfully.

Henry Brooker began to nod eagerly.

"Men!" he bleated. "It was …men!"

"Despite his brave struggles," went on Harry, on a roll, "…the ruffians overpowered him. Not satisfied with robbing him of his wallet and his watch… they tied him up and gagged him. You see, ma-am," he said to an incredulous, but increasingly confused Mrs. Brooker, "…they couldn't risk him going for the law until they'd made their get away! I reckon they stripped him and put him in the safe just to make extra sure! In fact – it wouldn't surprise me if they didn't tell him – that's why they did it!"

"They did!" yelped Brooker, "…That's exactly what they told me! All seven of 'em!"

"They tied you up with…these?" came his mother-in-law's sceptical voice, plucking one of the gossamer stockings from the floor.

"A refined lady like you won't know this, ma-am," explained Harry, "…but criminals have begun to use these extra fine…"

"… Pure silk. Twenty-five gauge. Direct from Paris," clarified 'Aunt Beatrice'.

"…Gauzy silk stockings…" went on Harry, "…to conceal their features." He saw his listeners frowning in confusion. "They wear them over their faces," he elucidated.

"They DID!" nodded Brooker, frantically. "They wore these over their…" he caught two identical sets of laughing brown eyes. He flushed. "…faces," he finished with a whimper.

"Are you…" Mrs. Henry Brooker's gaze disdained Harry for a moment, "…really a Bannerman?"

"Certainly, ma-am!" assured Harry. He withdrew something from his inner pocket. "Here's my badge. I'm a Bannerman man – through and through!"

"At the moment," came a distinctly malicious interjection from Mr. Dawkins.

"Mr. Briscoe," glowed 'Aunt Beatrice', "…how rude of me! I never gave you a picture of Mary and Sue here – as a keepsake." She handed over a photograph.

Harry goggled at an entrancing study of eight lissom, long, lovely Darling limbs, spoilt only by the presence of Henry Brooker. Finally, Harry managed to speak. "Thank you, ma-am. I'm goin' to keep that safe – right next to my badge. The only way anyone will get that from me is if…" he cast a look at the sour-faced Mr. Dawkins, "…if something ridiculous happens like - like George Bannerman askin' for my badge back."

"That'd be another ridiculous thing!" shot back Heyes. Again the laughing eyes darkened just a shade as he turned to Henry Brooker and Mr. Dawkins. "Wouldn't it?"

"Uh huh!" nodded the nekkid one.

"Risible," contributed the right hand man.

---oooOOOooo---

**WE SEE OUR BOYS… **

**ON THE SAN FRANCISCO CHOO-CHOO…**

**AND IT IS TIME …**

**TO HEAR THE LAST LINE**

"Kid…" said Heyes, as their train pulled away from the big – wicked – city, "…I've been goin' over the way you got me outta those cellars under the Barracuda Inn."

"With the fiendish …?" checked his partner.

"Uh huh."

"And the unbelievable …?" clarified Kid.

"Uh huh." A beat. "Know what I think, Kid?" went on Heyes.

"Nope," responded Kid. "But, I reckon I'm about to."

"The story of that escape – oughta be written down!" said the dark-haired ex-outlaw, firmly. "Folk'd wanna read some'n as exciting and just plain astounding as that!"

Kid threw him a questioning glance.

"What kinda folk are gonna want to read stories about us, Heyes?"

---oooOOOooo---

**THE END.**


End file.
